Drown My Fear
by darkdelena
Summary: when worlds collide just hold me down right now pull me in drown my fear -sounds under the radio- *** The town of Angel Falls is the perfect place to live, but when something deep in Elena's past starts to come to the surface, Elena starts to realize she can either drown her fear, or let it pull her under. (Delena AU)
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Netflix and chill? More like Netflix and anxiety attack. I never should've said yes to a date from the waiter at my favorite sandwich place. Now I have to find a new sandwich place and I loved their roast turkey sandwich with havarti and green olive tapenade on ciabatta. The bread is made in house and the meat to cheese ratio is on point.

Shit. Now I'm hungry. I thought pizza was a requirement for Netflix and chill. Least he could've done is brought home leftovers from work, instead I'm staring at a bowl of pretzel sticks and haven't touched the Bud Light he gave me when we sat down. Light beer is so gross. Lost all respect for him the moment he handed it to me.

Luke the aspiring actor is way too young. In my defense, I thought the obvious age gap would help loosen me up, but he's too good looking. I gaped at him for the first few minutes I met him. His light green eyes and wavy blond hair were so distracting, he had to clear his throat to get my attention so I'd order. Lucky for me, or unlucky depending on how you look at it, he found my pathetic girly soft gaze adorable and asked me to come over.

We're currently sitting on his warehouse purchased faux leather sofa watching the second episode of Breaking Bad on an massive flat screen television that doesn't seem to fit the broke-as-fuck vibe the apartment he shares with three other guys gives. I have no clue what's going on on the show because Luke just draped a blanket over both of us. His hand keeps trying to find mine under the blanket. He could be trying to find my thigh. Or the button on my jeans. The thought causes me to scooch away from him, but to my disappointment he moves with me, placing his entire hand on my thigh and I feel nothing but regret. This was such a dumb idea.

He turns to face me, a smile on his lips like I was playing a game when I moved. "Liking the show?"

I avoid looking at his lips and gaze into his eyes as my head bobs up and down. He really does have beautiful eyes. "Yup," I manage to utter. "I'm completely on board with this whole selling meth thing."

Luke chuckles and leans forward to brush an imaginary crumb off my lip. I haven't had anything since lunch, but the move is still smooth. "You're so cute."

He's inches from my face and I think he's going to kiss me. Here we go. Do I lean to the left? Will we bump noses? That'd be embarrassing. What if he sticks his tongue down my throat and I gag? What do I do with my hands? Keep them on my lap? Touch his butt? Worse yet, what if he can tell?

The influx of thoughts cause my heart to beat in the worst way possible and I feel my breathing quicken like I've forgotten how to inhale and exhale. I feel trapped and on the verge of suffocation.

No, no, no, this cannot happen again. Words fail me and suddenly the smell of his cheap beer breath mixed with cologne makes me want to gag and it's hot. Not I'm so turned on right now hot, but the sticky heat that comes from pure panic. I keep scooting back, away from him, but instead of taking the hint that I am not okay with what's about to happen, he takes it as an invitation to lean his torso on top of me so he's almost on top of me, his hands on either side of me, trapping me.

Luke takes my rapid breathing and lack of verbal communication as a desire to fulfill the "chill" portion of our Netflix and Chill evening and leans in to kiss me, except as he leans in, my body rejects him. I say my body because before the evening started, I wanted to kiss him. I wanted to get this whole shebang over with, but my body had other plans and decided to jerk and physically push him off of me. My actions are so vigorously that he falls on the floor, knocking his head on the coffee table and causing the pretzels to fall off and scatter across the carpet.

"What the fuck?" he yells, rubbing his head and not looking like the pretty waiter from earlier, clearly upset because there will be no fucking tonight.

"I'm s-s-sorry," I stutter, getting up to leave because I am. It's not his fault I'm a freak. When someone literally invites you over for Netflix and Chill, expectations for the evening are implied. Honestly, one could admire his ability to sit through one episode of whatever we were watching while I sat with my arms crossed on the other side of the couch.

Luke lays his head back and closes his eyes, trying to calm himself down. "You don't have to leave."

I sling my purse over my shoulder and look at the mess I made. Luke lying on the carpet with pretzels all over him and the bottle of beer I didn't drink about to topple over. The kid had potential but it looked like neither of us would be able to chill for the duration of the evening. I feel bad skipping out, but if I didn't leave in that moment, I knew he'd get the wrong idea and there'd be a repeat performance of what just happened, except probably worse. So I don't say anything and run out the door like a bat out of hell.

XXX

The story goes, Angelus and Santiago were twin brothers and Spanish explorers. Their arguments were legendary and well documented by their crew. One argument even led to a duel, but the brothers were so drunk the sword fight turned into a brawl which ended with each of them sleeping it off. But Angelus did something Santiago could not forgive, he stole his brother's betrothed and married her without Santiago knowing.

When they landed on the Americas and purchased (stole) the land in the name of the Queen from the Native Americans for pennies, they split the land down the middle. Santiago settled on one side of the later named Mystic River and Angelus settled on the other side. Long after Santiago and Angelus died, and the towns realized that if they were going to survive they needed to put aside their differences and trade, they built the Wickery Bridge to connect the two settlements, Angel Falls and Diego Falls, named after the two brothers and the falls that flow from the river.

Not surprisingly, both towns still hate each other, except now for different reasons. After the company that produced the largely popular Twin Falls Water and Juices closed down, and the vineyards dried up, Diego Falls has been struggling for the past twenty years while Angel Falls continues to thrive. I grew up in Angel Falls and haven't left, even when my peers went to schools on various sides of the country, I stayed and earned my masters degree in library science at the local college.

I know this town. I know that on Sundays brunch at most restaurants doesn't really start until one in the afternoon because most of the town is at church. I know that on the 4th of July, there's a pie baking contest and Mrs. Fell will enter her green tomato pie but Mrs. Lockwood will reject the pie because she doesn't count it as a real pie and then they'll have a passive aggressive fight until Mrs. Johnson's peach pie wins the contest, which it always does because she's the shit. Then Mrs. Fell and Mrs. Lockwood have a common enemy and over a couple of bottles of wine, they plot on how to overthrow her the next year. It's my town. It has decent shopping, some nice restaurants, big buildings and fancy hotels, but more importantly, it's comfortable and it's easy, which is why I've never had a desire to leave.

After leaving Luke's place, I have no desire to go home and think about life while spoon deep in a gallon of cookie dough ice cream, so I head across the Wickery Bridge to Diego Falls. Diego Falls has a lovely little movie theater that plays older movies. Every night they have a theme and tonight it's Musical Monday. I already missed the first movie in the double feature, but I should be on time for the second movie. The thing about this theater is you can't look up the times or buy tickets online, and they don't have multiple screens or an IMAX. You just have to go and hope they play a movie you'll end up liking.

Once I cross the bridge, the drive isn't bad. I pass several community developments, but as I drive further away from Angel Falls, I take a turn and drive down a dilapidated road and pass boarded up homes in foreclosure and a couple of convenience stores with small groups of people congregated out front wearing hoodies and knit caps, smoking. Random graffiti decorates any bus benches, sides of businesses and billboards. I take a left towards Old Town and pull into the parking lot of a theatre that looks like it still did seventy years ago, turquoise paint and pink tile in geometric shapes line the entrance, directly below the lit up marquee. Tonight, the theater is playing _High Society_ , with Grace Kelly, Frank Sinatra, and Bong Crosby.

I purchase my ticket at the ticket booth and walk inside to get popcorn. One of the many reasons I visit this theater is for the popcorn, popped in small batches and they use real butter and sea salt. It's good enough to distract me from the happy couple in front of me, holding hands and whispering to each other. She says something funny in his ear and he twists his head so fast to bend down and kiss her quickly on the lips and I wonder what that's like. To have someone want to be with you. To hold up the concession line because you just have to have that moment of intimacy. To be wanted like that. I shake my head and focus on ordering popcorn and a coke.

When choosing a seat in the theater, I always sit towards the back on the far left side. I choose the seat most people avoid, the one at the very end. Sitting in the middle has always made me feel claustrophobic, and sitting on the edge gives me the quickest possible route out of the theater. I settle in my seat and enjoy a couple of hours of Grace Kelly choose between men fighting for her affection, munching on actual buttery popped crack, forgetting about the young waiter I left on the floor less than an hour earlier.

Even though I prefer _The Philadelphia Story_ , the movie this musical is based on, I find myself humming on my way out to my car. I get out the keys to my Mini Cooper and see a couple of teenagers leaning on the hood of my car smoking something that are not cigarettes. They're watching a guy with a knit cap do tricks on his skateboard and laughing. A lanky girl in a baseball cap and oversized black sweatshirt comes up to the kid sitting on the hood of my car and they quickly exchange something in a small bag.

I stand back in the shadows and watch this all go on while people filter out of the theater without a care in the world, oblivious to the fact that these kids are using the hood of my car as a their own personal office. Jesus. I should've parked closer to other cars. I don't know what I was thinking, except I wasn't. I was busy lamenting over my nonexistent love life and my utter failure of being able to function as a human being with pumping hormones.

I consider asking for help from one of the people walking out of the theater, but instantly shake off that idea because I don't want to come across as a weak idiot. I look at my beautiful shiny black coop and decide that I can just ask them to move. They won't want any trouble. We're in a public place and even though I'm pretty sure everyone would ignore me if I screamed for help, I can call the police…who, in the fifteen minutes it would take for them to arrive, would find my dead body lying on the pavement. I shake my head. I'll be fine. I slid my keys between my fingers, in case I have to defend myself and pop someone in the eye and, as casually as possible, walk over to my car.

As I walk closer, it's clear that the kids are either oblivious to me or don't care. "Excuse me!" I shout. "You're on my car."

Like a gong going off, every single one of them turn towards me. The guy actually sitting on the hood, passes his blunt to the a short heavy set guy wearing way too much jewelry and combs back his greasy blonde hair with his fingers and smiles at him. "I knew this car belonged to a chick."

My eyebrows shoot up. "Was there a contest? Did the purple heart shaped sunglasses and Hermione Granger Funko Pop doll sitting on my dash not give me away?"

Wrong thing to say. Teasing a group of older teenagers is not a good idea. This is why I am not a librarian at a high school. Insecure little shits. The one wearing too much jewelry hands the blunt back to the blonde kid sitting on my hood and approaches me, something glinting in his right hand. "Hey!" He yells, more with his hands, showing exactly what he was holding, a pen knife.

I put my hands up, hoping someone, anyone, has noticed this interaction. But my car is parked in the dark part of the parking lot and everyone has gone home. It seems like this is a regular stop for these kids. "Look, I just want to get in my car and go."

He eyes my purse. "It's going to cost you."

I'm about to reach in my bag, when his eyes shift to someone behind me and he puts his hand down. My eyes stayed glued to the kid with a knife, not wanting to risk turning my back to him or my car. "Who're you messing with tonight?" asks the person behind me.

Knife guy shrugs. "Some uptight chick."

"Hey!" Rude jackass.

The person standing behind me moves to face me, placing himself between me and knife guy. He must've just gotten off his shift at the theater because he's still wearing the red vest. "Ms. Gilbert?"

I blink.

Knife guy looks as puzzled as me. "Who's Ms. Gilbert?"

"Holy shit," the theater employee momentarily flustered. "Sorry, I didn't mean to curse. I'm just so happy to see you."

I squint and then I see it. The eleven year old kid that used to come into my library asking for the next Rick Riordan book. "Aiden?"

He nods and gives me a big hug. He smells like burnt popcorn but it's a relief to see him and not someone who'd have enjoyed robbing me and stealing my car.

"This was my elementary school librarian," he explains, pointing at me like I'm a long lost friend. "She always had the latest graphic novels and would let me come in and read during lunch."

"You mean at that fancy ass private school you went to?" Knife guy says. I really don't like this kid.

Aiden releases me and walks me to my car, ignoring his friend. "Get off her car, Clive."

Aiden went to Angel Falls Day School under a scholarship. I wasn't sure what happened after he left when he graduated 8th grade, but I'd heard he got into Edison. Most students are either admitted to the prestigious college prep school, Edison Preparatory Academy, attend another private school in a neighboring city or go public. It's a grueling process and often more stressful than going through college admissions.

I glance at the kids pushing each other, sharing a sip out of a bottle covered by a paper bag and back at the boy who came into my library looking for solitude. "What happened, Aiden?"

A look of sadness crosses his face and he shrugs, knowing what I was referring to. "Got in but didn't get the scholarship," he mutters, his back turned from the kids who've now moved away from my car to another side of the parking lot. "It's better. I didn't fit in with that crowed and my mom needs me closer to home."

I place my hand on his shoulder and look up into his eyes. "You're better than this," I say. "Don't let these kids bring you down."

His face closes off and he pushes my hand off his shoulder. "These are my boys. My family. You don't know what you're talking about Ms. G."

I sigh, knowing that the kid I knew for three years needs a hard truth. "You're "family" just pulled a knife on me and are into some pretty illegal activities. They're going to get you arrested and then you won't be around to help out your mom." I open my car door and look at him square in the eyes. "Find the nearest library and study. You know my doors are always open."

He backs away and nods his head before walking toward his friends.

XXX

 _I gaze through the wooden slats of a closet door and hold my breath. Shades of blue and black dance before me. I see dark ominous shadow as I try to make myself as small as possible. My heart pounds like a drum, drowning out any sound from beyond the door. Smaller. Smaller. I crawl into the darkness so the shadow can't get me._

I wake suddenly in a cold sweat, shaking. It's the same. Always the same. Knowing I won't be able to go back to sleep, I get out of bed and walk over to my dresser to pull out leggings and a sports bra, deciding to go for a run before I have to face my day.

XXX

I lean against the door frame and gaze at Scott Easton's forearms as he hangs autumn leaves from the door frame of his classroom. The sleeves of his blue plaid shirt are rolled up and as he reaches up, the tight corduroy vest he's wearing moves with him giving me the perfect view of his ass. A couple of parents who are volunteering for the day walk over and ask him for help. He sheepishly runs his hands through his deep auburn hair and scratches the cool 5 o'clock shadow he's always rocking. His eyes crinkle at something they say. Shameless flirts.

"If you get any drool on those boots, you forfeit the right to own them and I don't have a pair of mid-calf Gucci boots."

Startled, I subconsciously wipe my chin and turn to see my best friend, Caroline Forbes shaking her head. "Seriously, I don't understand why you fawn over Science Scotty when you keep turning him down. He's asked you out three times, and every single time you make up some lame excuse as to why you two can't date."

I glare at her and pull her into the library, where none of the volunteers can hear us. It's Grandparents and Special Friends Day and the day before Thanksgiving break, so school doesn't start until later. Kids tour the school with grandparents or family friends and they usually do a craft or something in the classroom and have brunch in the courtyard. "Jesus Christ, Caroline, announce it to the whole school, why don't you?"

She laughs and sits on a bright blue bench near the check out desk. "You're the trifecta, Elena. Gorgeous, intelligent, and good taste in best friends, plus you have more money than God. Why Science Scotty? You could do so much better."

I sit on the edge of the check-out desk and shrug. "He's sweet and good with the kids."

"Then why won't you go out with him? You could walk over there right now, ask him to cancel his Thanksgiving plans with his family to take you out and he would."

Caroline pierces me with her stare and I know she's about to do something stupid on my behalf because she thinks she knows what's best for me. I need to shut this down. "I don't think it's a good idea to date a coworker."

She scoffs. "We work in a school. No one gives a shit as long as you don't use one of the closets as your own personal fuck-pad and you keep it professional at school."

I scratch my head and raise my hands. "I don't want to date him, okay?"

I'm a liar. I do want to date him. I want to have his babies but there's no way I can ever date him. I'm too screwed up and Caroline cannot know how screwed up I am or I'll never hear the end of it. I've never told her. We've been friends for two decades and this secret, this part of me, is one of the only thing I've kept from her. But since Scotty was hired a year ago, she's been on to me. She knows something's up.

Caroline gets up and walks to the door, then spins around with her hand on the door, ready to push out and leave. "Elena Gilbert, you give me one good reason for why you can't go out with Scott or I'm asking him out for you."

I panic, cause I know she'll do it. "Don't, Caroline. Please. I have to get ready for the book dedication sale before people arrive."

She laughs mockingly and waves her hand at the table of books I ordered and set up. "You've had this set up and ready to go since yesterday."

"Caroline…"

She starts to push the door open.

I jump up and practically tackle her away from the door. "No! This is none of your business."

Caroline stumbles back and brushes wrinkles from her red pencil skirt. "You're hiding something from me and we don't hide things from each other."

I'd call her out on those words, because she's hidden plenty from me, but there's a crack in her voice and I know she's hurt because she loves me. I was by her side when her mother passed away and she was the only person that didn't treat me like a weak freak after the accident. Even though we've slowly grown apart since she married Tyler and started her own family, I'm suddenly so tired of holding onto this that I decide to let go.

"I'm a virgin," I mumble. I can feel the color creep up to my cheeks.

Her mouth drops and I know that she didn't expect that. "I thought you lost it to…"

"I lied," I finish.

She sits back down on the bench and I can tell she's trying to go back through our history to see if she can pull any clues. "You're thirty."

I nod and sit next to her. "I'm literally the synopsis for a Judd Apatow movie."

"Except you have to subtract ten years because you're a girl," she adds.

"Now you know."

"How? How is it possible? I've seen you date, not much, but you went to prom with Matt. Everyone has sex at prom."

"I skipped out when you got drunk with Tyler and Matt realized he wasn't going to get any action. I don't like big parties, you know that."

"I gave it up when I was sixteen and told you all about it. How did I miss this?"

I shrug. "You know how you're supposed to have rites of passage? Your first high school party, getting your license, the day you go off to college- I just kept missing this one until I was too embarrassed to be intimate with someone and for them to find out. Whenever someone gets close, I sort of freeze and become anxious."

Caroline nods, like the news is finally sinking in. "Plus your Aunt Samantha is super religious and a super bitch and being raised by her probably didn't help."

"Aunt Sam telling me that sex before marriage is a sin didn't really affect me. I just… haven't found anyone worth the risk or knowing that I'm a virgin and telling them that they'd be the one to swipe my v-card. I should be more experienced. You've been sexually active for almost half my life. It's weird that I haven't been able to make this jump. I'm weird." I place my head in my hands. "I'm so weird. I just want to get it over with so I can move on with my life. Rip it off like a bandaid."

Caroline puts her arm over my shoulder. "Elena Gilbert, you are not weird. Plenty of people decide to wait and have sex and anyone who'd tell you that's weird isn't worth your time. Now, if you want to get your cherry popped, I can help you."

I sit up. " _You_ can help me?"

"Absolutely," she replies, straight faced. "Are we still on for our Thanksgiving break celebratory lunch?"

"Champagne and waffles at Jam Bistro? Yes! It's the only thing that gets me through this day. I hate asking people for donations- makes me feel like a car salesman."

"Good, because I invited Jessa."

"You're crazy multi millionaire CEO cousin?"

Caroline nods. "She's in town for Thanksgiving and my dad wants me to take her out. Plus she'll know what to do."

"You can't tell her!"

"You need to stop being ashamed. It's not a big deal. Plus, who's she going to tell? She lives in New York. Do you want to continue to avoid relationships because you're worried they'll find out?"

"No," I state miserably.

"You just need a crash course in sex and you'll be dating Scotty by winter break. I don't think I can stand another Christmas Eve with you canceling dinner at my place to see White Christmas at that shitty theater in Diego Falls."

I take a deep breath. Caroline's right. I need all the help I can get and if her crazy successful cousin knows what to do, I'm game. It's a hell of a lot better than going out with guys I have no interest in in the hopes that I'll have enough guts to do the deed. "Fine, Jessa can tag along."

"Yay! Operation De-Virginize Elena is on!" Caroline claps and gets up. "Okay, kids will be taking their grandparents or special friends around to my classroom soon. I better get back."

"And I need to get some parent volunteers to help with book donations and check out," I say, getting up to walk Caroline out.

"If I get you laid, will you give me your beautiful boots?" she asks, on her way out the door. I think she's joking, but knowing Caroline, my boots will disappear from my closet before December hits.

XXX

"You need a prostitute," Jessa says, popping a blueberry in her mouth. She's blonde and glamorous and looks like she could kill you with her venom green eyes. I see the similarities between her and Caroline right away.

I take a deep gulp of my champagne. "Isn't that illegal?"

She scoffs. "Everyone does it, but no one talks about it because we're careful and pay a lot of money for discretion. Just because I'm a woman, doesn't mean I don't have needs and to take care of those needs, I use a high-end escort service. Then I don't have to deal with a relationship or an awkward one night stand. A few hours of fun and then they're out the door, no questions asked."

Caroline sits back wide-eyed. I kick her under the table so she'll speak up and I don't have to respond to anything that came out of Jenna's scarlet painted lips. This is a bad idea. Why did I let Caroline tell Jessa I'm a virgin? Although, when Caroline told her, she simply shrugged her shoulders and came up with a solution over waffles. No judgment, which was very refreshing coming from a Forbes.

I have no clue what to say and neither does Caroline because we both take a huge bite of our waffle at the same time. I'm hoping Caroline didn't know that this would be Jessa's solution because I'd hate to have to kill her before Thanksgiving.

Jessa looks down at her phone and types something. "Look, as long as you take care of everything," she glances up and waves her hand at my body, so I assume she means waxing and general upkeep. "health-wise," she adds in response to the blank look that has been permanently on my face since I met her. "I'll take care of everything else, my treat for getting me out of that hell hole and away from the ankle biters and entertaining me for an afternoon."

"Hey!" Caroline yells, finally piping up. "Those are my kids."

Jessa looks back down at her phone. "Are you sure? Because one of them got peanut butter all over my new Valentino pumps and any child that'd so easily destroy a designer pair of shoes cannot be yours."

I gulp the rest of my champagne and decide it's time break up a potential argument and speak up. "Look, Jessa, it's really nice of you to set me up with a gigolo-" words I never thought I'd every have to utter. "But I'd rather my first time not involve a capitalistic exchange of goods and services."

Jessa pierces me with a steely gaze, one I'm sure she reserves for the boardroom. "Let me get this straight," she starts, putting her phone on the table, crossing her legs and placing her intertwined hands on her knees. "You don't want a relationship because you're worried that the person who you're with will judge you for your lack of experience, which is crazy, by the way. You should never be ashamed of choices regarding your sex life. That being said, if you want to get your first time over with like a bad pancake, I have the means to help you. The service I use does a deep background check of all their escorts and clients. It's completely professional and usually they don't take on new clients without said background check but because of your situation and because I'm a frequent customer, they're willing to make an exception."

I open my mouth to say something along the lines of _no thank you_ , but Caroline interjects. "Jessa, Elena isn't that kind of girl. We just need to find her a nice guy that won't give her a business card and ask her to refer him to her friends."

Something about what Caroline said annoyed me, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Jessa's phone goes off and she looks at it, reading the email and a wicked grin spread across her face. "Well, I'll tell you what. Someone with a red rose in his lapel will be waiting at the Oak Bar inside the S Hotel tomorrow night, at 10 o'clock. They know all about your situation and I made a room reservation for you at the hotel. If you decide to go through with it, he'll be there. If not, order room service and enjoy the room."

I put my hand up to decline, but she gets up to leave. "I have an overseas conference call I need to take," Jessa says as she slings her purse over her shoulder. "Good luck Elena," she adds with a wink.

When she's out of the restaurant, Caroline picks at the rest of her waffle. "You can't go."

I sigh. "I know."

"Who knows what kind of disease you'd catch. I'm sorry I invited Jessa to our annual lunch."  
I dunk a massive piece of waffle into whipped cream and pop it in my mouth. "It was nice of her to buy me a night with a gigolo."

Caroline and I look at each other and both burst out laughing. People at neighboring tables give us odd and irritated looks, and considering we haven't exactly been quiet for the past hour, that's saying something.

"Oh my god," she says, wiping a tear from her eye. "She probably has a hooker for every city."

Jessa is a respected business tycoon and notoriously ruthless. If this is how she de-stresses, she'd have to be careful. Would it be that bad to take Jessa up on her offer? I could get it over with and because they're being paid, there'd be no judgement.

No, I can't do it.

Can I?

"Look, we'll go to a bar and I'll help you find the right guy. I'll be your wing-woman. Tyler isn't expecting me back until late and the kids are with his mom," she offers. Classic Caroline, coming up with a reasonable solution, even though she doesn't know half of the anxiety going on in my head and didn't seem to notice that I've never been in a serious relationship or question it. Sometimes, I think she was glad it was that way because then I could be her attentive and loyal friend, ready and eager to listen to any and every boy problem.

"I mean, you've been kissed," she states, like she's sure she's seen it.

I laugh nervously. "Of course."

No. No, I have not.

"And a guy has felt you up," she adds. "I know you've mentioned it."

She's thinking of the numerous times I've had to listen to her lament over Handsy Harry, the guy she dated in college in between her relationship with Tyler, because unless you count my last gyno visit, it's never gotten that far.

I bite the side of my lip and pour myself some more champagne. "Uh huh," I mutter.

Caroline shrugs and helps herself to the bottle. "Well, sex isn't that much different."

"Yeah," I hold up my left hand and make the shape of an O and using the index finger of my right hand poke it through. "It's just a penis penetrating my vagina. Now I know why I've never done it, because no one has put it in such simple terms. It's just one step up from being felt up. Thank you, Caroline."

Caroline exhaled and chewed on her upper lip, looking like she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Biting back a snide bit of judgement, most likely. Caroline is my best friend, but this news threw her. She expected certain things from me and this wasn't expected. I had turned into an uncontrolled variable, and I knew that Caroline must be realizing that a lot of our relationship was one sided. Her contributing to my de-virginization would help balance an already rocky relationship.

I lean over the table and place my hands on hers and squeeze. "It's fine, Care," I try to reassure. "I'll figure it out, it's like you said, this isn't a big deal."

She exhaled, relieved. "Well, if you ever need to talk, I'm here."

I plaster on a smile. "Tell me about your Thanksgiving plans. Tyler's mom driven you crazy yet?"

Caroline holds her hands in the air like she's strangling an ghost. "She wants me to make three different kinds of stuffing and even though she'll tell me to not stuff the turkey, she'll bitch when it's dry. There's a strong chance I'll be arrested for homicide by the end of the day Thursday."  
"The trick to dealing with Carol Lockwood is to keep refilling her wine glass when she's not looking. It's Thanksgiving, so she'll start drinking at ten in the morning when she makes mulled wine for everyone watching football," I explain.

Caroline's eyes light up. "That's good. That's really good. Are you sure you can't come and be Carol's personal cup-bearer? I really need you to keep me sane."

And pass up a double feature in Diego Falls and popcorn for dinner? "I can't," I lie.

She frowns in response and continues to talk about the dinner she has planned and who's coming. I sit and listen to her complain about various members of Tyler's family, all the while thinking about why I can't be normal and just have what Caroline has. I'm not jealous, but I'm envious of the ease in which she interacts with her husband and his family.

Is it wrong that when she brought up going to her place for Thanksgiving, I immediately declined? Wanting to spend the day on my own? A holiday meant for family and I preferred the solitude of a theater over hugs and conversation over turkey, dry or not.

If I could get this one thing, this stumbling block that is my virginity out of the way, maybe it's a step in the right direction. Maybe I'd then be able to find someone who'd want to be with me, all of me, not just the pieces that best served themselves. It's a foolish dream, but it doesn't keep me from hoping there is such thing as a better life.

XXX

I don't have work the day after my lunch with Caroline, so I spend the day catching up on work at home, updating the library website and posting various pictures I took of kids reading at the school fundraiser the previous day on the library's Instagram account. #caughtreading or #readingwithfriends with various smiley face emojis decorate the comments beneath each photo, doing what I can to promote reading and the library program.

I live in a newly developed gated community of Angel Falls known as Deer Crest. There's a lush green park with trees, a pond, paved bike path, and gazebo. There was talk of turning the park into a small 12 hole golf course, but the families in the community gathered together and got the project shut down. Companies are constantly trying to develop Angel Falls and there's definitely a divide in the city of those who want to compete with larger neighboring cities and those who like the community and family feel of the city.

I bought my home when I turned twenty-seven and knew what to do with the money in my trust. Up until that point, I'd been living in a studio apartment working as a librarian, free-lance writing, and waitressing to pay for graduate school. When I was able to access my trust at twenty-five, I felt weird spending any of it. Money I'd gotten in a lawsuit from a horrific accident when I was twelve isn't as easy to spend as you'd think, but when I saw this house, with it's dark wood siding and stone slate pillars, wrap around porch, lush green landscape, making me feel like I was in some fairy tale, I knew I had to buy it. Then the spending got easier, but I held onto the millions in my bank account for a few years and invested before I decided what to do with a small portion of it.

When it's late in the evening in Paris, I call my brother, Jeremy for annual pre Thanksgiving chat, but he doesn't pick up. Not surprising since he's most likely with his latest girlfriend, Juliet or something. Ever since he started dating her a year ago, he's been m.i.a., but Jeremy has pretty much been m.i.a. since my Aunt Samantha sent him to boarding school in England when he was ten. We try to keep in touch, but as we've gotten older and when he started working for an art restorer in Paris, it's been harder to schedule time.

I'm about to send him an email when the doorbell rings. I have no clue who it could be but it doesn't stop me from getting up and answering.

Twenty minutes after answering the door, I'm still in shock. A box from Barney's is sitting on my bed and peaking out of it is deep plumb lace lingerie and a black designer double breasted tuxedo jacket. But it's not just a jacket, it's a killer dress that only a woman who commanded boardrooms and brought people to their knees on a regular basis would buy. Jessa.

A note was left. One note in perfect cursive. _Have fun_.

There were two decisions placed before me. A) I could put on my pajamas and watch Die Hard, my pre-Thanksgiving tradition. B) I could put on the lingerie and dress and meet up with the guy with a rose in his lapel.

I chose option C, throw on jeans, a white tee, and vintage converse sneakers and go to a bar to play pool. The Rabbit Hole is a bar near the university that serves cheap beer and amazing buffalo wings they call rabbit wings, which makes no sense but the blue cheese ranch is so good, you'll willingly follow any rabbit down a rabbit hole.

Money is on the table and the people that surround the game have slowly started adding to the pile. Casey's thick chestnut hair is pulled back into a small bun, but tendrils fall into his face as he tries to make the shot. His worn black Eagles shirt rides up, revealing a defined abdomen. He peaks up from his shot and winks at me, showing me he's confident in his skills. I let him beat me once and now he's right where I want him, overly confident and the people, his friends, that have started surrounding the game and adding to the pile of bets, only make him more sure of himself.

"Sure you don't want to back out? You've already lost once, it'll be humiliating to lose a second time," he smirks.

I stand, holding my pool cue like a staff and resting my left hand on my hip. "You might be the type of guy that pulls out, but I never back down from a bet."

His friends _ooohh_ and chuckle and just as predicted, when he aims for his shot, he misses. His eyes aren't on the solid red seven he means to hit in the corner pocket, but boring into my back, purposefully not watching his shot, but looking like I'm watching the football game going on at the bar, when really I can see what he's doing, reflected off of a framed picture of the owner shaking hands with Jeanette Lee, The Black Widow.

And I know it's time.

I spin around, line up my shot, and hit after hit I make every single shot without scratching or fouling like I did in the previous game. Eating rabbit wings dunked in dip while dancing around the table, taking my time, allowing the growing crowed to watch without causing me to clam up or get nervous. This is something I loved and something I've been doing since I was seven and hung out at Mr. Breckinridge's, playing pool and video games with the son of my family's lawyer, Logan.

"You conned me," Casey says, leaning in to hand me a wad of cash while the other hand rests firmly on the edge of the oak pool table I'm leaning against, slightly grazing my hip.

I fan through the bills nonchalantly. I came to the Rabbit Hole to have fun, but I also came for something else.

I look into his light green eyes, flecked with bits of gold and brown and cock a brow. "Is that what you call losing to a superior player?"

His other arm falls on the other side of my hip, pulling me towards him. His large body practically shadowing mine.

"Sass," he mutters, taking the wad of cash out of my hands, folding it up, and placing it in my back pocket. So smooth and slick, I hardly notice because my heart is racing. Pounding out of my chest. This is it. He's handsome. He's into me. He's about my age. He checks every box.

"Sass is very attractive on you, Elena," Casey mutters, sweeping back a lock of my hair and tucking it behind my ear. "I'd love to explore your other attractive _things_."

His hands move to my waist and curl around my hips like he wants to pick me up and explore me right there on the pool table. But instead he pulls me away from the table, takes my hand, and guides me to an empty back room reserved for not-exactly-legal poker games.

This is it. This is the moment I turn into a normal girl. Woman. Whatever. Just a normal person with hormones and feelings.

But it's his smell. It wafts towards me as he guides me through the room. I didn't notice it before, because I was so busy trying to be nonchalantly amazing at pool, but now that we're in a room illuminated only by a single lit up sign for a vintage beer, and he's close, his head bowed, his hands grazing the hem of my tee like he wants it out of the way so we can get down to business, I notice it. He smells like sweat mixed with aftershave and smoke. It's familiar enough to leave a pit of dread in my stomach. The unknown, unnamed ghost from my past has made a reappearance.

"Adorable," he mutters, walking me to the card table. "But beating me in pool. Conning me into letting you win," he tsks, shaking his head. "That was sexy."

It was? I look at the card table. It doesn't look stable. The legs barely look like they could hold a bowl of potato chips.

Is he going to fuck me on this card table?

What if it breaks?

What if I fall on the floor?

What if I fart when I fall? That'll kill the moment then and there.

I feel my hands shake as I lift them and wipe them on my jeans, trying to put distance between us I step away from him, but the heel of my sneakers catch a loose floor board and I clumsily fall backwards, landing on my ass.

Casey stands there, looking down at me, laughing. "So adorable," he says, but instead of helping me up, he gets on the floor next to me. Camping out next to me like we're lying on a bed.

I don't really know what to do or say. My ass really hurts and I don't think I can get up on my own at the moment. Do I roll away from him? No, I can't. I have to go with this. I can power through. I may be panicky, and his smell may make me sick to my stomach, but I need to my cherry popped more, even if it happens on a dirty floor.

"Nice of you to join me," I say, twisting my body towards his so we're facing each other.

His eyes scan my body and zero in on my boobs. I may never get action, but guys have never been subtle about my rack. In one swift move, he rolls on top of me to get a closer look, his legs straddling me. It's not the most comfortable feeling. The hard floor at my back and a lumberjack straddling my waist, his wood digging in, straining from his pants. He hasn't even kissed me yet and he's ready to go, meanwhile I feel trapped like a caught animal. I can almost feel his smell travel down my throat, choking me, as he traps me with both hands on either side of me.

I close my eyes, trying to regain some semblance of myself when images of something large closing in on me blockades my senses. Blackness. Total blackness. I'm blind and I can't get enough air and I really start to choke. I feel myself being pulled up.

"Elena!" I hear my name, but I'm no longer on the floor. I'm in a chair in the back room with a glass of water next to me. I blink away the darkness and even though spots form in front of my eyes, I see Casey with a concerned look on his face.

"Sorry," I croak, taking a sip of the water.

"I'm not that kind of guy," he tries to explain. There's a pained look on his face. "If thought for a second you weren't into me, I wouldn't have taken you back here."

It's not his fault. I place my glass on the card table, take his hand, and squeeze, looking up into his eyes. He doesn't smell anymore. "I wanted to come back here," I say. He gives me a look of relief.

I need to know what I did. How bad it got this time. "Did I…"

"I tried to…" he starts

"Kiss me?" I finish.

"You started trembling uncontrollably and blacked out for a couple of minutes," he answers.

Every damn time.

"I'm so sorry," he repeats.

I shake my head. I'm not normal. I never will be. But I have one last hope before I move to Austria, join a nunnery, and sing about a problem like Maria.

"It's not your fault," I say, getting up to put as much distance as I can between me and this moment. "I better get going."

He grabs my hand, turning me towards him. He does have kind eyes and he does seem genuine, but this was a mistake. So release myself from his grasp and leave before he can say anything else.

XXX

I take a deep breath. I should've had a shot of something. Bourbon. Something that'd put fire in my veins. Twenty minutes ago I checked into The S Hotel. An hour ago I was at my house, blowing out my hair, shaving everywhere, trying to paint confidence on my face, and frantically getting ready. Ten minutes ago, I stood in the lobby behind a ornamental tree, waiting for enough courage to hit me that I could walk into the bar.

He walked into the bar a few minutes ago and let me tell you, Jessa wasn't kidding. This _was_ a high-end operation because the guy sitting at the bar looks like a model for Armani. He's the very definition of an adonis wrapped in a three piece black tux, a red rose pinned to his lapel. Raven hair, not too short, but long enough to run your fingers through and even from this distance, I can see his pale blue eyes sadly looking at his drink before he downs most of it in one go. Brooding. Confident. Sex.

I can do this.

I can do this.

Oh god, he looks like he's going to leave.

I've got to do this.

I straighten the hem of the very low cut and short designer dress Jessa sent me, and throwing my shoulders back, stride towards the gigalo in the highest pair of silver stilettos I could find in my closet.

When I approach him, he cocks an eyebrow, piercing me with a stare that burns me to the core. He looks at me like he owns me, a slow long gaze, and maybe in this moment, he does. Our fingers barely touch, sparking something unknown in me, as I take the drink out of his hands, down the rest of it, and slam the hotel key down in front of him. "Room 576," I say in a voice that isn't mine because the sound coming out is controlled and confident, something I am not.

I turn around and walk away, toward the elevator, knowing he'll follow because he's paid to do so. I reach the elevator and can feel him behind me as I press the button for the fifth floor. He puts a hand at the small of my back, guiding me inside the car. His fingers strong and sure as if I'm a possession he needs to hold on to.

I haven't dared look at him, but I chance a glance at the mirrored walls of the car and his attention is on me. We're so silent, I can hear the crinkle of fabric as he moves his hand so it's more securely wrapped around my waist and I'm positioned in front of him when another couple enters the car, dressed to go to the pool on the roof. When he moves, I can feel his arousal dig into my back. A gasp escapes my lips, which only encourages him to pull me closer.

"See what you and that dress do to me," he mutters in my ear.

I gulp. I am way out of my depth. I knew he'd be more experienced, but this was almost too much.

The other couple oblivious to his words, chat with each other about the DJ playing the pool party on the roof.

He smells good, like bourbon and soap mixed with a hint of cologne. It's a clean masculine smell.

He feels good and warm next to me. I feel protected, even though I don't know him. Is this why he's high-end? He's so good he can make every woman feel wanted? I really need to keep my eye on the prize or I'm going to have a problem that I didn't anticipate, actually falling for him like some reverse Pretty Woman scenario.

Our floor dings, and I'm out the door and out of his grasp. I needed distance, but he's not easily fooled and is close behind me. He grabs my shoulders from behind, spins me around, and pushes me against the dimly lit wall of the hallway. His hands firmly placed on either side of me so I'm caged in like an animal.

His blue eyes lock on mine. "Don't run from me little rabbit. You should know now, I always catch my prey."

Jesus.

I swallow. "Are you a fox in this scenario?"

He shakes his head, tsking. His eyes flicking from my lips to my eyes. "Little rabbit, I'm the goddamn wolf."

Fucking. Hell.

His head dips down and claims my mouth, and holy shit I get this whole kissing thing. It is all consuming and all I can think about is how I want more and I want him closer to me so I can feel his heart and see if it's pounding as fast as mine. I thought I wouldn't know what I was doing. I thought my inexperience would prevent a guy from enjoying me or act as a block, keeping _me_ from enjoying intimacy, but I was wrong. So wrong. It's like he awakened something in me. Possibly a beast. Forget seeing a psychologist, I think this prostitute cured me.

My legs are around his hips and he's carrying me through the hallway, bumping into walls, taking a few moments to grab at each other. Kiss various body parts. I think my dress is mostly unbuttoned, because the wolf has already moved the cup of my bra out of the way to suck on my nipple. God, I really hope this isn't a family hotel.

Taking the key out of his pocket, he fumbles to open the door while I remain propped against it, my legs locked behind his back, my hips rocking back and forth. "Hurry up," I breathe huskily.

He kisses my neck, sucking in just the right spot. I might have called him an Erotes, one of the gods of sex, but in my defense, I'm a librarian and he hasn't told me his name and I thought calling him a hooker would kill the mood.

The moment we're in the room, he throws me on the bed and takes off his jacket, while I sit up and watch, propped up in my elbows. "You like watching me?"

I bite my lip and nod. Yup. Yup, I do.

He smiles and takes his time folding the jacket over a chair and pulling at his tie before slowly unbuttoning his shirt. He stops. "This seems a little one sided," he nods his chin toward me. "You go."

Damn him. I kneel on the bed, unbutton the rest of the dress, and throw it on the floor, revealing the plum lace bra and panties. He just stares at my abdomen and I blush self consciously, covering up the small lines of scars that run along my lower stomach. "I probably should've told you," I try to explain, not knowing how. "It was from a car accident a long time ago," I gulp, not knowing how to tell him that Jessa may have told him I'm a virgin, but my hymen broke in the accident. "Don't worry, there won't be any blood," I try to joke.

He shakes his head like I'm crazy and kneels on the floor in front of me so his face is a mere inch from my stomach and kisses the scars, worshipping me, all the while holding my hips firmly with his hands. His fingers find the band of my panties and tugs, pulling them off.

It's another first, his knees in a prayer position while I sit perched at the edge of the bed, his mouth on me while my hands thread through his hair, groaning. I am completely exposed to him, and yet all I can think about is more. I want more of whatever he's doing to me. His fingers leave indentations on my hips as he lavishes me until I am a tightly wound coil waiting for release.

Please. Please. Please.  
I plead with him, but he's not done. He takes short breaks to focus on my inner thigh or to position my legs over his shoulders so he can get deeper. It isn't until his finger slides into me that I start to come undone, falling back onto the bed with my arm covering my eyes. Goddamn. Explosive. More illuminating than fireworks because now I get it. I now I get why that guy from the X-Files had to go to sex rehab and I haven't even had actual penetration.

"That was…" I trail off.

He captures my lips with his own, shutting me up. His entire body blankets me on the bed, sweetly and lazily kissing me until I feel that need building back up. Clothes have been long removed and he's sheathed himself. I haven't dared look. I may not be blacking out or having panic attacks, but I'm still inexperienced. I mean, I just had my first kiss and orgasm within an hour of each other. But the rest of him is exquisite. He's broad shouldered and lean. He must be an active runner or cyclist, but he's also strong enough to toss me across the bed and lift me like I'm a feather.

He licks and kisses his way from underneath my breast to just below my chin, his hips grinding into me. He pauses and with those heated eyes that blaze blue fire, he sweeps the hair that's fallen over my face out of the way and locks eyes with mine. _Are you ready?_ He asks with one penetrating look.

I nod, wanting this more than the breath of life. Yes. Yes. Yes. I repeat like a prayer. Yes. I want you. Yes, I want to feel you. All of you.

Keeping his eyes locked on mine, he enters me. I gasp and scream as my body adjusts to him. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull his lips to mine, tasting him as he rocks into me until I'm ready. I suck on his lower lip as they part. "Get ready, little rabbit."

Like I'm a marionette, he positions me my arms are crossed above my head, elongating my body and moves my right thigh up with the palm of his hands and wraps my left leg around his body. He gently pulls out ever so slightly, and then thrusts that causes unintelligible expletives to escape my mouth. He utters strings of words like _so fucking tight_ , _perfect_ , _made for him_ , but I'm too busy fighting for something to grasp on to. The feeling is so unreal, I need something, anything to ground me.

"I need…" I breath.

What…what do I need….how do I describe this building need inside me?

He pauses and looks into my eyes, trying to read me. "What do you need, baby?"

And in that moment, looking at his flushed cheeks and the tendrils of hair that have fallen forward, into his eyes that seem to know me, know who I really am, I understand what I need. "You."

He knows it too, because he releases my arms so I can wrap them around him and bring him closer to me and he gives me his mouth. With both my legs locked around him, he gently rocks into me until I'm ready for more and he gives me more, going deeper and deeper until my eyes tell him I'm spent and we both come undone.

He doesn't leave me, instead he kisses me all over, licking the sweat that's beaded up on my chest. I feel precious and wanted and it's the most foreign feeling I can describe because I suddenly realize that I've spent the better part of my life alone. Completely alone. Without even knowing what to call this.

I whimper, feeling emotion creep up in me, and when he looks at me with concern, I know that I have to suppress it. I need to regain myself because even though he's the only person I've tried to be intimate with that I've not had a panic attack with, he's also paid by the hour.

He slowly pulls out of me, kisses my forehead, and as he excuses himself to go to the bathroom, I hop out of bed and start to change with the speed of a superhero getting ready to fight an evil corporation.

"Where are you going?" he asks, as I'm heading to the door.

How do I end this? Is there proper etiquette for leaving a gigalo at the end of a sex session?

"Ummm," I utter, pointing to the door. "I'm going to go. Feel free to keep the room for the evening, just check out tomorrow morning by eleven."

He looks at me, flabbergasted. "You're not going anywhere."

Does he want more money? I could probably afford to be a regular customer, but I don't think that'd be healthy.

"This has been lovely," I say, waving my hand toward the bed like Vana White. "But it's been a long day and I need to get home."

"You're not visiting?"

I thought Jessa had filled him in. Maybe the use of a hotel threw him off. "No, I live a few miles away."

I probably shouldn't have said that to a complete stranger, but he had his mouth on my lady bits, so I think I can trust him to an extent.

His brows furrow. Thinking. I twist the nob, hoping he won't notice if I slip out mid-thought. "Just stay the night," he pleads. "You can't leave after _that_."

God, he's really trying to get more money out of this situation. He could probably tell that I am a desperate, inexperienced, and lonely loser.

I take one last good look at him. His defined torso, his lickable jawline, and his soft, perfect lips and flick my eyes up to his baby blues. Sadness. Probably because he's not getting paid for a full night.

"No," I state, and I walk out the door and practically sprint to the elevators. I make it just as the doors close.

I'm out the elevator doors and walking through the marble lobby when I feel an iron clad grip wrap around my wrist. "I don't even know your name."

Surprised, I turn around. He should know my name. Just my first, but I'm sure Jessa gave the service some sort of information on me. I glare at him and try to yank my arm away. "You don't need to know my name," I explain. "Because we're never going to see each other again."

I slip out of his grasp and continue to walk toward the exit.

"You can't tell me that what happened upstairs didn't mean anything to you," he yells after me, not caring that half the hotel can hear him.

Oh God. This is embarrassing. Hopefully no one I know from work is in the lobby.

I spin around to tell him that just because this was my first time having sex, doesn't mean I am magnetically drawn to the hooker that popped my cherry, when a guy with green eyes and amazing hair wearing a tux with a red rose on his lapel interrupts us.

"Goddammit Damon, I can't believe you skipped out on my reception to fuck some girl," he yells.

"Don't fucking talk about her that way."

And we have officially caused a scene, because at that moment I put it together. The tux. Reception. The rose on the lapel. Being in a hotel bar.

"You're not a prostitute!" I shout at my hooker.

Both heads turn completely to me. Jaws dropped.

"No!" Damon replies incredulously. "You thought I was a hooker?"

"What did you do, Damon?" The other guy asks.

Holy fucking hell. I just picked up a complete stranger, took him to a hotel room, and slept with him. I let him do things to be because I thought it was in exchange for monetary funds and now, now I feel sick. I should be relieved that I technically didn't commit a crime, but it just means that what transpired this evening was real, not an event just to help me overcome something that was keeping me from having a real life.

I look into Damon's confused eyes, slightly shake my head, and leave.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

There's really only one thing to do when you find out you didn't loose your virginity to a prostitute and instead lost it to a guy that ditched a wedding reception to hang out in the hotel bar, you put on your earbuds, listen to indie folk music, and order waffles from a 24-hour diner with extra whipped cream and strawberries.

I dunk a large forkful of waffle into whipped cream and cram it into my mouth, looking at drunk customers trying to sober up. A lot of ladies in fancy sparkly dresses, ordering coffee while the guys order something a caveman would order, like half a buffalo or something. So fucking happy, drunkenly talking and sharing secrets, unaware everyone can hear.

"That Bianca is such a bitch. Everyone knows she's on vodka and Vicodin."

"I heard she gave him a hand-job under the table at Thanksgiving dinner. His parents were sitting across from them at the table for shit's sake."

"Don't get me started on her husband liking it from the back more than the front."

It goes on and on and on. But still, it's normal. Normal to have relationships, even if they turn vindictive or dark. Normal to feel. I don't think the universe wants that for me, as evidenced by the last 6 hours and to be honest, the last 22 years of my life, since my parents died.

Even though I was just eight years old when they died, I like to think that we had a nice relationship. There are things I remember. Finding lollipops in the pockets of my dad's jacket from his office, my mother's grading pens scattered all over the kitchen table, and the way they looked at each other over the coffee pot in the morning, like they knew they wouldn't see each other in eight hours and wanted to be sure they had every line, every freckle, every crease of a smile memorized before they parted.

Normal until they died.

Fuck normal.

It's clearly not for me so the whole idea of normal can go screw itself.

"The just-had-the-best-fuck-of-my-life hairdo really suits you," says a familiar voice, reaching over and tugging the earbuds out of my ears.

Still in his tux, complete with the rose on his lapel, Damon slides in the booth across from me. Like he's fucking normal.

I glare at him and take another bite of my waffle. "I really wish you were a prostitute."

His brow furrows as he takes a strawberry off my plate and dips it in whipped cream. "You had me for free, I'd call that the bargain of the century."

"If you were paid, you'd have left me alone to eat my waffle, and I'd never have to see you again."

He shrugs, taking a silver fork out a wrapped paper napkin, he cuts into my waffle and takes a bite. Rude, but honestly, I probably shouldn't eat the whole thing on my own.

"Why did you order a prostitute?" he asks.

I sigh, not wanting to answer because no matter what I come up with, the truth seems better than any excuse I could conjure. So I decide to stall.

"Such an intimate question for someone who doesn't know my name."

"Your name is Elena Gilbert, you are an elementary school librarian, and you live in Deer Crest," he replies cooly. "Now, why did you think I was a gigolo?"

What in the hell? It's been barely an hour since I ditched him in the hotel lobby and not only did he find me, but he did some sort of low-level background check.

"Are you a spy?" I ask.

Delay. Delay. Delay. Not going to give him any more information.

Damon smirks. "Trying to avoid my question?"

Shit. Yes.

"No," I reply, looking directly at the corner of a waffle I'm about to fork. "Why did you ditch the wedding?"

Damon sits back and shrugs. "A beautiful girl told me her hotel room number and let me follow her upstairs."

"She sounds like an idiot," I reply, taking a sip of orange juice, trying to carry on with my pity party as if he weren't there. "I'd avoid her if I were you."

He swallows. Thinking, his hands reaching over the table to touch mine, a single touch awakening something in me. Something addictive. "Well," he replies. "I just can't help myself."

We lock eyes for a fraction of a second before I pull my hand away.

Delay. Delay. Delay.

"How did you really find out about me?" I ask.

Annoyed, he relents, or he seems to. "Damon Salvatore," he replies simply.

Cocky son of a bitch. "Wow, your name," I say dryly. "But it doesn't answer my question."

"The _S_ in S Hotel," he states.

Oh. Got it. He owns the hotel. "You're rich and think the world's at your fingertips."

Another shrug. "Information, at the very least. All I had to do was look up the credit card put on file when you checked in."

"Isn't it illegal for a business to use credit card information for personal gain?"

"Isn't it illegal to exchange sex for money?"

Now I shrug. "As far as I'm concerned, nothing was exchanged except for bodily fluids."

"Which brings me back to my original question. Why would an elementary school librarian want a hooker?"

Fuck.

"It's been a shitty day," I say, getting up. "I think it's time for me to call it a night."  
He doesn't try to physically stop me. Instead, he utters one name. "Jessa Forbes."

I sit right back down. I didn't technically do anything wrong, but Jessa has because even though I didn't sleep with an escort from the service she uses, she still used the service, which wouldn't have been hard for Damon to put together because even though the credit card for the deposit was mine, the hotel room was under her name and Jessa Forbes is a well known business-tycoon.

"What do you want?" I ask.

Damon smiles because the bastard knows he has me.

"I want many things, Elena, but I think you already know what I want first."

The truth will get rid of him.

I am a mess and the truth will scare the shit out of him. That's what I decide because once I tell him, he won't want to be near me and then I can go home and sleep through Thanksgiving weekend.

I look him dead in the eyes and start to say something in the middle of a diner that only two other people know, and they just found out a little over 48 hours ago. "I'm a virgin, or I was until earlier."

Whatever he thought I was going to say, by the blank look on his face, it's clear that he never thought this would be the reason I thought he was a hooker.

After sitting across from him for 120 seconds, I know because I counted, I just nod like this is exactly what I expected him to do, and get up to leave, but he stops me with an iron-clad grip around my wrist.

My eyes meet his and the bastard is actually smiling. Not an apologetic smile, vindictive smile, or a smile to make me feel better because to be honest, I'm feeling pretty crappy right now and could use that kind of smile. No, this is a different smile. "I can't believe it. You're actually proud of yourself."

Damon's eyes twinkle and I hate him so much in that moment. "It's been a while since I've plucked anyone's flower."

Seriously? Plucked a flower?

"What are you, a fifteen-year-old girl?"

"Fine, it's been a while since I hole-punched a v-card."

I sit back down. "You stuck your penis in a never-been-penetrated vagina, it's not a big deal."

We're really good at creating scenes, because the ladies in sparkly dresses have been eying our conversation, or they're looking at Damon, who'd draw anyone's attention in his perfectly tailored tux and confident demeanor. I'd care, except they're very very drunk, as evidenced by their glazed eyes and inability to sit still.

"If it's not a big deal, why wait?" Damon asks, drawing my eyes back to him.

I sigh and think. Not about if I should tell him or not because he's pretty much blackmailing me into an explanation, but how to articulate it when I don't even know if I can make sense of it.

Damon waits almost patiently while I gather my thoughts. I haven't bolted, which I'm sure he sees as a good sign that I'm going to explain. I purse my lips and take a deep breath. "I've always liked to be alone. It's not that I don't like other people, I have friends, it's that whenever I'm with other people, I wish I was by myself. When I was in high school, my best friend Caroline was so excited about prom, she dragged me with her shopping and made me go with a boy that I didn't really like and the whole time I'm at this monumental rite of passage, I kept thinking about how I wished I was away from the groups of people laughing, talking about going to college, making out. The moment I could slip away, I did. I just, didn't understand the importance of the whole event. I couldn't make myself care about it."

"A lot of people don't go to prom," Damon replies. "I don't think I made it out of the back of the limo."

Not surprising at all. I let out a light laugh that doesn't really feel like a laugh, more like a release of pressure. "Time passed and I think it created a sort of mental block because whenever someone would try to get close, even if I wanted it, I'd think about how inexperienced and weird I am and feel trapped and panic."

"You avoided reality to protect yourself," he says, simply.

It's a level of understanding that somehow feels more intimate than when he had his mouth on me. Like he's revealing a small piece of himself through my pain.

I take another sip of orange juice to have something to do with my fingers and utter a single word, an admission that I never thought I'd make out loud. "Yes."

The air feels still and it's like all the noise from earlier has been vacuumed from the room. It's just us, confessing things in subtext. "Reality is a bitch," he mutters.

"That she is."

Damon takes off his tuxedo jacket and sits back. We avoid each other's gaze as he orders us both coffee, meaning he wants more information. He's not going to let me go that easy. When the waitress comes back with two cups of coffee, I add a splash of cream and sugar and stir and stir and stir.

Delay. Delay. Delay.

He sips his coffee and waits.

"The hooker?" he asks after I take my first sip.

The hooker. My last shot at overcoming my problem.

"Someone whose job it is to have sex. Why not turn to an expert?"

Damon shakes his head, disappointed. "Truth, Elena."

Sighing, I take another sip of coffee. "I like this guy from work and knew that I couldn't have anything remotely close to normal unless I solved this problem. My best friend, Caroline, figured out that I wasn't being honest with her, so she called in her cousin Jessa for help."

"Let me get this straight, your best friend, who you've known since you were a kid, had no clue you were going through this."

"I didn't want her to know," I argue. He can't talk about Caroline that way, he doesn't even know her.

"If she was a friend, she should've figured out that you were in pain earlier than a few days ago."

"Hey!" I feel myself getting angry. "I just told you that I like being alone. Caroline didn't know because I'm closed off."

"You weren't with me," he retorts.

"Because I thought you were being paid by the hour."

"Speaking of which, there was no blood," he says, distracting me completely.

I lift my hands in the air. This man is infuriating. This conversation is infuriating. "What?"

"If you were a virgin, there'd be blood when your hymen broke."

Oh my God, he really went there. "I told you there'd be no blood."

His eyebrows shoot up. "No, you didn't."

I stand up, next to our table, and repeat what I did in the bedroom, using my hands to show him, repeating what I said. "Don't worry, there won't be any blood."

Realization seems to dawn on him. "So what happened?"

I sit back down. "Car accident when I was a kid. I was running across the street to our neighbor's house when a drunk driver hit me."

I don't tell him that I was in a coma for two months or that I had multiple surgeries. I don't tell him that I received such a huge settlement from the drunk driver, that I was pretty much set for life. I also don't tell him that the driver went to jail for life, but ended up dying a year later. Something I still think about.

Seeing me looking plaintive, trying to suppress that moment in my life, Damon reaches across the table and takes my hands in his, rubbing soothing circles in the palm of my hand. "I'm sorry that that happened to you."

I also don't tell him that no one was there when I woke up. That I was just twelve years old, alone in a hospital room. I don't tell him that I didn't press a button to see a nurse when I woke up, I just laid in bed until one came by to check on me when they were doing their rounds. Alone with weird wires and tubes coming out of my body. I wasn't panicked then, I was resigned to a fate I knew only too well.

I pull away from him and look out the window. It's started raining, splatters of drops sprinkle the window pane and slide down in a maze of chaos.

"I think you have the answer to your question," I say, not looking at him. "I'm leaving."

I get up from the fake leather booth, glad that I'll never have to look at Damon or his knowing eyes ever again.

"Do you know how I found you?" Damon asks, again, stopping me in my tracks.

"It doesn't matter," I reply, even though I _am_ curious.

"Security footage showed which direction you went and it didn't take me long to figure out your destination from there."

"Wow," I say dripping with sarcasm. "Congratulations on seeing me through the window of the only place open at this time of night."

"Morning," he corrects. "And do you know what else the security footage found?"

I roll my eyes, walking away. "I don't really care."

"The prostitute you were supposed to meet," he states.

Oh. Shit.

I turn around and sit back in the booth. I've gotten up and down from this booth enough times to call it my cardio workout for the day.

"Why would this matter to me? I didn't commit a crime."

Damon opens up his jacket lying next to him, takes out a file folder, and throws it on the table. I open it and see pictures of the hotel bar, date stamped for last night, of a guy in a suit with a red rose at his lapel. "That's Dennis Stone," Damon explains. "Security at the hotel is currently holding him for drug possession after finding a few dimes of coke on him. Five minutes of interrogation was all it took before he ratted out Jessa Forbes and ten other powerful CEOs and politicians. He even said he had proof he kept as insurance."

This was much worse than I previously thought. Jessa was just trying to help me and now Damon had proof and a witness that could ruin her reputation and put her away for a long time, and it was all because of me. I went upstairs with the wrong guy and now he had damning evidence.

What could he possibly want from me?

I swallow, looking at pictures of Dennis meeting Jessa at what must've been another one of Damon's hotels, and a picture of Dennis entering hotel elevators with her and other people I recognized from the news.

"What do you want?"

"First, I want you to attend my family's Thanksgiving dinner," he replies.

Wait, what?

"Excuse me?"

"You, me, Thanksgiving dinner with my parents," he replies, looking me up and down. "And wear something modest. My dad is known for his wandering eye."

Gross.

"No."

"I didn't ask you," he says. "You are going or I am going to call the head of security, who's currently babysitting the hooker, and tell him to call the cops."

Maybe rationalizing with him will be better. "Look," I say calmly. "I don't do Thanksgiving."

That's all I could come up with. Maybe I should've just lied.

"You don't _do_ Thanksgiving?"

"Yeah, and I have plans." At the theater.

"No, you don't. You just confessed that you're a loner and I'm telling you to be alone with me at my family's Thanksgiving dinner."

I scowl. "That's not being alone."

"Trust me, nothing will make you feel more alone in the world than my family."

Damn, do I know what that feels like.

"Why? How would me attending your family function benefit you?"

"The hotels aren't mine, they're my family's. Technically, my father's."

I grin, knowingly. "Great, my problem's solved, you don't have any authority over security at the S Hotel."

"Oh, but I do."

Damn.

Damon continues. "I have an MBA from Harvard, have been working in the hotels since I was thirteen, and yet, my dear old dad put my football playing younger brother as first in command when he steps down."

Ouch. "Why?"

"Stefan, can do no wrong. He's the golden child, boy-scout, married an international heiress whose father will make my dad millions upon millions. My dad sees me as one way and I need help making him see me differently."

"How does he see you?"

He hesitates. "I have a reputation."

My eyes narrow. "As what, exactly."

"The type of person that would ditch his brother's wedding reception to go to a bar, take a sexy young woman upstairs to her room without so much as exchanging a name," he shrugs, completely unapologetic.

"The guy that came up to you in the lobby was your brother?"

Damon nods.

"Well, there's the flaw in your plan," I say, knowing that I figured out a way to get out of Thanksgiving dinner. "Your brother knows I thought you were a hooker. That's not exactly going to convince your father that you've changed your ways."

"Except Stefan doesn't want to run the company, he's already been admitted to medical school and my father is overjoyed to have a doctor in the family."

"But he's still not handing the company over to you," I finish.

Damon shakes his head. "He's naming someone else, probably one of his underlings that actually likes golf."

"Your father, a Salvatore, would rather leave the company, Salvatore International, to someone outside of the family than his own flesh and blood?"

Damon nods.

"I don't see how I'll be of any help."

"Seriously dating an elementary school librarian would show that I'm serious about changing."

Dating? First, it was just a family dinner, and now we're dating. Seriously dating. Is he insane?

"Are you insane? How is this any different than hiring an escort?" What a fucking hypocrite.

"You're not getting paid," he states.

"No, you're blackmailing me," I retort.

"Call it what you want. I need you to date me and you need me not to go to the authorities with what I know about the prostitution ring you're involved in."

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

"This isn't going to work," I explain. "I don't like you, and I don't think I'm going to be able to fake it."

His eyes widen with mirth. "You weren't faking it earlier."

Oh god.

"No wonder your dad doesn't want to give you the company."

Eyes filled with confident fury, Damon gets out of his side of the booth and put his jacket back on. I think he's going to leave, but he just slides into the other side of the booth, right next to me. He's inches away from me. I can feel heat reverberating off his body and like an electronic pulse, he revives me so I'm attuned to him. Damon runs his long finger down the lapel of my tuxedo dress, so I can feel his breath on my chest and he leans over, slipping his hand under the dress, he squeezes my thigh, putting slight pressure on my apex. "I'll pick you up at noon, little rabbit."

His mouth moves to the nape of my neck, and licks up to my ear. "Hmmmm," he hums. "Remember," he breathes into my ear. "Wear something modest."

And with a blink of an eye, he's gone and I truly truly hate him.

XXX

Giuseppe Salvatore hates me, so Damon's plan backfired. All it really took was for Giuseppe to hear my full name, Elena Gilbert and his exact reaction was to look at Damon and say, "Christ Almighty, her?"

Her.

Yup, I was pronouned.

I did warn Damon and for all of his research, I'm surprised he didn't catch the flaw in his plan. I am a Gilbert, and unless your a member of the Fellowship of His Faithful Disciples Church, which lucky for me, many people in the community are, you hate my father. Around the time my younger brother was born, my father was asked to testify in a wrongful death case. The defense, a developer that wanted to build luxury high rises at the edge Angel Falls, "approached" my dad and essentially tried to bribe my dad to perjure himself and testify that the working conditions were safe and not the reason Ricardo Lopez died.

Because my dad was honest about the conditions, the defense lost the case and it ended up opening up the developer to multiple other lawsuits and they had to declare bankruptcy. Church goers that knew my father were proud that he remained honest under pressure, companies hated my father for taking a multibillion-dollar company away from the Angel Falls community.

But my father isn't the only reason Giuseppe hates me, because, within thirty minutes of meeting him and telling him I'm a children's librarian, he claimed that Ernest Hemingway is the great-American author, to which I scoffed and said that Ernest Hemingway was a self-righteous misogynist who hunted lions and tigers, among other things, for sport.

Damon just sat back and wore an expression of annoyance and amusement. I think he was conflicted over appreciating the fact that I was so easily able to piss off his dad and angry because his plan to use me to win his dad over failed horribly.

Before Damon picked me up, I was planning on mysteriously disappearing to Diego Falls for the day and avoiding Damon altogether, but in the end, I threw on an evergreen green plaid dress, dark chocolate opaque tights, and lace-up oxford heels. I even took the time to blow out my hair hair. I was going for the "my father is involved in a political scandal but I still have my trust fund" look and to be quite honest, I think I pulled it off.

Damon picked me up at noon. He texted me that morning to make sure I didn't get cold feet. Texted. Meaning he programmed himself into my phone when I wasn't looking, he even sent himself a kissy face emoji.

Damon had on a cable knit sweater, slacks, and his hair was combed back. The moment I saw him on my porch, I didn't greet him, instead, I grabbed his head and ran my hands through his hair. "You don't look like you," I commented, trying to get his hair back to it's styled yet wild state.

He tried to swat me away. "Hey!"

"Take off that sweater," I command. "No fake boyfriend of mine would wear a cable knit turtleneck."

"How would you know? You've never had a boyfriend," he says, not moving.

I ignore him and when he doesn't budge, I start pulling the sweater over his head. Underneath, he's wearing a deep green henley, so we'd match. I bunch the sleeves up and slightly tuck (not all the way; he's not attending Catholic school) his shirt into his jeans, exposing his brown leather belt. It's nice enough for dinner but casual.

"And you've never had a girlfriend," I say, walking to his fancy new black Tesla. "Aren't we a pair."

Thanksgiving isn't at his house, it's at the S Hotel in the two-story rooftop penthouse suite, complete with a den to watch the football game on, and a full kitchen. Dinner is being made by the kitchen staff, but after his dad and I argued about my father and American literature, I escape to the kitchen where his mom is drinking a cup of cider, which I suspect has bourbon or whiskey added, and reading a magazine.

Unlike Peppe-the-Dick, I like Damon's mom, which is a problem because it means that Damon's plan didn't totally backfire. Lily doesn't take anything too seriously, can talk about anything and everything, even if you just respond with "yeah" and "really?", and can gossip about anyone around town.

"You're Samantha Gilbert's niece," she says, pouring me a mug of cider.

I nod, taking a sip. Yup, there's bourbon in this.

"She took you and your brother in when your parents died," she adds.

I don't know what to say. I never know what to say to people who know about my parents or how I grew up, so I lamely nod again and take another sip of cider, letting the alcohol warm me.

"I went to school with Samantha. She was always a bit of a teacher's pet. Used to run a scripture study before school," Lily laughs to herself. "Ratted out the entire football team and cheerleaders for drinking wine coolers behind the bleachers before a pep rally, the irony was she asked if she could join in before the rally, but we said no. Didn't make her too popular and sort of put a target on her back. Her brother, your father, had to intervene. He and your mom were very well liked. Homecoming King and Queen and Prom King and Queen, and you couldn't even hate them because they were so genuinely nice."

I sit there, completely enthralled by her words. She knew my parents. Every part of me wanted to ask questions about them and ask if she has pictures because it seemed like they ran in the same circle, but I don't know how to respond because I don't know where to start. Aunt Sam never talked about them, except to say that they were heathens who got what they deserved, and I should spend every hour of the day praying for their souls.

She sits across me wearing a navy pencil skirt and silk blouse with gold buttons and reads me with the same blue-eyed gaze as her son. "You must've been so alone," she says. "With _that_ woman to care for you. She may claim to know God's love, but there is only one person that woman loves and she looks at her every day in the morning when she puts on that god awful brown lipstick."

My eyes prickle, but I expertly suck it back. "I had books and friends," I reply quietly. "It wasn't so bad."

Her eyes continue to scrutinize me and she downs her mug of cider, which I now know has more bourbon than juice. "I know you're not really dating my son, but you're good for him. He chose to trust you with his family. He may act like he hates us all but Damon would do anything for his family, which makes my husband the biggest jackass of them all, and don't give me that sad look, I know what my husband does on the side."

My eyes widen. Does she?

Lily laughs at my reaction. "Oh, darling child. I love my kids and will go to the end of the earth and back for them, and I also love not being poor. Whoever said money can't buy happiness hasn't lived in a trailer park and eaten out of a dumpster. They don't know how painful hunger can be. Giuseppe's little pieces on the side keep him busy and feeling guilty, and when he feels guilty, I get what I want."

This conversation just got a little too bizarre. I really really hope Damon doesn't ask me what his mom and I talked about.

"It's our game," she adds, pouring herself a fourth mug of cider. Not that I'm counting. "Who do you think convinced him that it was okay for Stefan to go to medical school? The man sees doctors as servants, but I let him know that I knew about Natalia in New York, and now he's paying for Stefan's medical school and even gave a decent toast at the wedding last night."

"But Damon still hasn't been named the successor," I reply, unable to help myself.

Lily waves her hand at me. "Damon hasn't been perfect, but he'll figure it out and his father will respect him more for it."

I wasn't sure about that considering the only reason I'm here is to make Damon look good and if he needs me to make him look good, then it doesn't look good for Damon.

XXX

Once I'm able to get away from awkward conversation with Lily in the kitchen, I find Damon standing out on the balcony with his dad, holding a tumbler of pale gold liquid. I almost turn around to find another place to hide when I see the door to the balcony barely ajar and hear pieces of conversation. I look both ways to make sure no one can see me eavesdrop and move closer.

"If we acquire The Carlton's property along Ocean Avenue, we'll own that side of Ocean Heights. I know Jacob, he's in the hole for his massive renovation on his London property, and he's looking at dropping a few properties in the states for a bargain. The land The Carlton's on is right next to the land we bought last year, and haven't touched. We could finally build the resort we've wanted," Damon tells Giuseppe.

Giuseppe looks unimpressed. "Jacob Carlton's financial problems aren't a secret, which is why we aren't going to jump on this deal, we wait."

Damon throws his hands up in the air. "If we wait, someone else is going to buy that land and then we're fucked sitting on unbuildable land for another year."

Giuseppe's face grows in anger. "Stop acting like a child and think for two seconds, Damon," Giuseppe yells. "Someone else will buy Carlton's land, and then they'll be knocking on our door to buy our property, which will have increased in value. Haven't I taught you anything?"

"Salvatore International hasn't built anything in well over a decade. We just invest and then sell," Damon argues.

Giuseppe interrupts Damon. "Which is where the money is and the direction the company is going, and why I can't trust you to run things. Donaldson understands my vision, which I why he'll be named CEO when I retire."

"Donny Donaldson? You trust that weasel Donny Donaldson over your own son?"

Giuseppe sloshes back his drink. "Donny hasn't spent the last ten years drunk and sleeping with every girl in every city. He understands the company and shares my vision for its future."

"He's a kiss ass," Damon yells.

"He would never think of bringing a gold-digging whore to a family dinner. He's a family man," Giuseppe states.

I slept with his son once and I'm a whore? The man doesn't even know me. He knows my last name but that's it. I look down at my green dress. It's not too low cut, it shows a Thanksgiving-appropriate amount of cleavage.

Damon gets real close to his father and says in a voice that I can barely hear. "You don't like her because she's a Gilbert, has a brain and can think for herself, so you know she won't put up with your manipulation bullshit. I know your game, Dad."

Giuseppe takes a step back, tosses the rest of his drink over the balcony, and leaves out of a door on the other side of the balcony.

Giuseppe has manipulated someone Damon's been with before? Did Damon love her? I thought he'd never been in a relationship, or maybe that's what I wanted to hear.

I walk out onto the balcony. Damon's leaning over the railing, looking out at the city below. I stand right next to him and try to see what he's seeing, but I know that he's seeing something entirely different at that moment. Anger clouds his stature, so I find his hand and lean and wrap my fingers around his.

"How much did you hear?" he asks, squeezing my hand as if he's not sure if I'm really there.

"I think I'm failing at being your pretend girlfriend," I reply.

I feel Damon smile, sadly. His whole countenance seems to relax. "He shouldn't have said those things about you."

I sigh. "It's fine, honestly. I've been called worse," I turn to look at him in the eyes, and see a vulnerability there. "He shouldn't have said what he said about you."

For a moment, I see a boy struggling to gain his father's approval, but as quickly as it comes, it goes and he releases my hand. "He just wants what's best for the company."

"He should want what's best for his son," I state.

Damon takes a step back. "For a virgin, you're really good at this fake girlfriend thing."

I swallow and shake my head. "Well, all gold-digging whores have to start somewhere."

Damon looks at me, but doesn't really see me, takes a step back and leaves out of the same door as his dad.

XXX

"So, you're a librarian," Stefan asks, doubtful. He's been skeptical of me since he walked through the doors of the penthouse with his new wife, Rebekah, and I guess I can't blame him after the incident in the lobby the previous evening.

I lamely bob my head up and down from across the mahogany dining room table, in between bites of mashed potatoes, which are fucking awesome, by the way. If you have to do Thanksgiving dinner, getting a professional chef to cater is the way to go.

Damon places a comforting hand on my thigh that makes me feel not entirely comfortable and pipes up. "She's also the founder of the Wickery Bridge BookMobile, a mobile library for kids in areas where they don't have easy access to a library."

I try to remove Damon's hand, but it won't budge. "Damon's being generous. I just rejuvenated a dormant program. It stopped running because the public library was convinced kids resisted checking out books because the collection was old and most kids prefer electronic devices over physically holding a book."

"What did you do?" Lily asks after a sip of pinot. Honestly, I don't know how this woman is still coherent. I think she's made of three-quarters alcohol.

"I reorganized the library by genre and invested in more graphic novels and books released in the past few years to mix with the older books, then I took the mobile library to parks in areas furthest from libraries. At first, no one came and at one point, a group of kids spray painted some colorful words on the side of the library while I was out getting coffee, but I was consistent and did a lot of read-alouds and now we have five trucks that travel between Angel and Diego Falls."

I catch Peppe rolling his eyes, but Stefan seems mollified by my answer, so I go back to eating mashed potatoes, assuming I've answered my quota of questions for the evening. I'd rather just listen to Stefan talk about medical school and Rebekah brag about her wedding. It's going to be featured in some celebrity magazine. Something she's brought up at least twelve times between the glasses of wine she's downing. Apparently it's a big deal and _apparently_ , if what they say is true about marrying someone like your mother, Freud would have a field day with Stefan.

Giuseppe sits at the head of the table in a suit that cost enough to feed a small country, and if you count the diamond Rolex on his wrist, a couple of small countries, and after being quiet for much of the meal, decides to speak up, like he's been waiting for the right moment to embarrass me enough to leave.

"You funded the organization. The reason it failed is because of a lack of publicly funded resources and the city decided to close down the organization. What would've made it a true success is if you worked within the parameters of those before you? Throwing money at a program that drained resources doesn't make it your success," he argues. "You didn't even come up with the original concept."

I swallow. Damon sits up as if to come to my defense, but I stop him. "Mr. Salvatore, the goal of the BookMobile is to provide books for kids who don't have access to a library, and we're doing just that. The government shut down the BookMobile because it wasn't running efficiently, all I did was prove them wrong. If it meant putting my money where my mouth was, then I'm glad I have the funds to do so. Lucky, actually, to have the capital to give to those who don't have enough."

Silence fills the air and I think Peppe sees red, he makes a fist with one hand. "If you're implying that I don't give to charitable organizations, you're sorely mistaken. Why, just last week I played in a $250,000 golf tournament for the renovation of the town clock."

"Bravo," I say, slow clapping. "The town really needed the big ugly clock fixed because smartphones are a thing of the past, and how else are we going to know what time it is? Thank God for your charity golf tournament, otherwise, we would've had to go back to telling time by the sun."

Damon covers his mouth with his napkin and Stefan averts his eyes and takes a massive bite of cornbread stuffing. Rebekah actually snorts. Giuseppe slams his fist on the table. "And where does someone like you get that kind of money? Everyone knows Samantha Gilbert is a parsimonious church mouse, and being an elementary school librarian can't pay that well. Everyone at this table knows you're only with my son for his money, but my question is, who did you fuck long enough to give books to those miscreants in Diego Falls."

And there it is, not only does Giuseppe share most of the town's bias towards Diego Falls, he knows something about how Damon and I met, except he has the story backward. I wonder who told him the wrong version of events? I look over at Stefan, who's decided to take that moment to look at his phone.

"You can't talk to her that way," Damon says to Giuseppe.

"I knew you liked to whore around, but to bring one to a family dinner is going too far, Damon," his father bellows. "Please tell me that you didn't profess your love to this one by giving her a house."

Damon is out of his chair so fast, I barely react in time to pull him back. Punching his father is no way to gain control of his company. Peppe sits cooly in his chair, like calling the girl his son brought home a whore happened on a daily occurrence.

I try to think of something to say, and quickly because Damon looks like he's about to make another go at his father, and I don't think I'll be able to stop him.

"Mr. Salvatore," I say, as calmly and as sweetly as I can. "It wasn't the size of his bank account that made _me_ profess _my_ love to your son, it was the size of his _heart,_ " I say, holding up an index finger from each hand far enough apart from each other so everyone at the table knows that I am _not_ talking about Damon's heart.

As I get up to leave, the reaction from around the table is something of beauty. Giuseppe scoffs, Lily takes another sip of wine with a sly smile on her face, Stefan's face is a nice shade of red, and Rebekah chuckles. "Oh, I like her," I hear her say in her prim British accent.

"Thank you for dinner," I say to Lily and Lily only.

"Don't go after her, Damon!" I hear Giuseppe yell while I'm in the hallway. I hear scuffling of feet and then. "This is why I can't trust you with the company. You are and always were impulsive and reckless."

I have my jacket on, my purse slung over my shoulder, and I'm halfway to the door, when I feel Damon behind me, his hands on my waist, pulling me back, twisting me so I have to face him, but when I do, I realize he doesn't know what to say. Sorry for bringing you to the lion's den doesn't seem like something Damon's willing to admit. But I still wait for him to say something, anything and when he doesn't, I step out of his grasp, open the door, and leave.

XXX

I'm stuck in hell. Uber isn't running and I can't get a cab because it's fucking Thanksgiving, so I'm sitting at the same bar I pretty much propositioned Damon in last night, drinking a gin and tonic. Fucking Thanksgiving. Why is this even a holiday? Thankful for colonialism and cultural genocide? Cause that's what happened and I highly doubt there was canned cranberry sauce exchanged between the indigenous people and pilgrims. But a vodka cranberry does sound really good right now.

"You didn't stay for pumpkin pie," Damon says, sitting on the stool next to me.

I take a sip of my drink and don't even look at him. "Homemade whipped cream or canned whipped cream?"

He scoffs. "Homemade."  
Fuck. I love homemade whipped cream. "You need to stop trying to find me."

"Who said I was trying to find you? I just came down here for a drink and you happen to be here."

I turn towards him with my glass raised. "To the end of our bullshit relationship."

I down the rest of the drink and wave to the bartender. "You can put it on his tab," I tell him pointing to Damon. "His daddy owns the hotel."

I hop off the stool and feeling a little dizzy, attempt to leave at a meander. I'm not very successful at getting away because Damon easily catches up and puts an arm around my shoulder, steering me to a private ballroom where hotel staff are cleaning up from an event. He plops me down on a white fabric covered chair with a bow on the back. Must've been a wedding, which reminds me that I'm going to die alone. I don't think sex fixed me because I still managed to ruin a fake relationship. I didn't even make it to dessert. And there was whipped cream.

"Your drunk," Damon notices.

"Nu-uh," I reply, shaking my head.

"You're lying across two chairs."

Am I? No wonder Damon looks sideways. He's still hot in his green henley, I can see part of his hard chest. That was nice last night. His hard chest on me. Him in me. Why is it so hot? I sit up to take off my jacket.

Damon grabs my hands. "Don't unbutton your dress," he orders.

I shrug and look around. No one is really here. "It's so hot."

"You need water."

"I need a vodka cranberry," I reply.

"No," he says, getting up. "You need water. I'll be right back. Don't move and don't strip, or at least, wait until I get back to strip."

I see Damon leave, but he looks like a fuzzy blur. I try to sit up and act as normal as possible, but I really am tired. A few people in uniforms come in and slowly take down tables and put them away.

A shorter woman with dark hair in a milkmaid braid collects flower centerpieces. I squint. I know someone with that same braid because she used to put my hair in the same braids when I was in elementary school. My nanny Ada. She was German and taught Jeremy and me how to make bread. She sat with us the entire night when we found out our parents died.

"Ada!" I yell.

She turns around and I know it's her. She's older but has the same rosy cheeks. I thought she left to take care of her sister in Regensburg.

Ada looks at me with fear. She shakes her head, warning me away and then actually runs away from me as I try to approach her. I'm suddenly feeling sober and am able to run after her. I follow her out to a hallway until I catch up with her outside of a stairwell, but nowhere else to go.

When I'm finally able to stop her, my first reaction is to hug her, which I do. I'd missed her so much. She still smells like cinnamon and butter. But there's a darkness that clouds her eyes that wasn't there when I was baking with her in my family's kitchen.

"Miss. Elena," she says, sadly, hugging me back. I feel her tears on my dress. "You are so beautiful. Just like your mother, but you need to go. Leave Angel Falls. This place is evil."

I take a step back so I can look at her. Is she senile? "Ada, what happened?"

"You need to go. You can't know I'm here. Stay away," she whispers.

I frown. Why would I need to stay away? I haven't seen her in eighteen years.

"Elena!" I hear my name being yelled behind me. I turn around to see Damon running down the hallway, carrying a water bottle. By the time I turn back around, she's gone.

"Damon, my nanny works in your dad's hotel," I say.

Damon looks down the hallway. "No one's here, Elena."

I shake my head, taking the water bottle from his hands and downing it. "She was just here. I had to chase her down the hallway."

"Are you sure it was her?"

I nod. "Damon, I need to find her. She was afraid."

"She was probably surprised to see you," he says. "How are you feeling?"

That whole experience sobered me up pretty well. "Slightly nauseous, but better."

"Good, because I need you to attend a brunch at the Fell Estate on Sunday."

Is he serious?

I feel a headache coming on. "This is over," I say, waving my hand around. "It was a big fat failure."

"I still have the pictures of your friend and Stone, and I'm willing to use them," he states.

"Damon, your dad hates me and everyone thinks I'm with you because of your money. I was called a whore on several occasions today. I think the jig is up. Me being with you isn't helping."

"Not true," he states.

How? How was I helpful today? "Damon…"

"I'll help you with that guy from work you like," he replies, seemingly desperate to get me to comply to his terms by trying to sweeten the deal.

"What?"

"You want a normal relationship, right?"

I nod.

"You freeze up around guys and have a hard time getting intimate?"

I nod again.

"Well, I'll coach you through it," he says.

"I don't think I want relationship advice from you, thanks," I state, looking for a quick exit. Maybe the same direction Ada left.

"You said you want normal and that whenever a guy gets close, you freeze up. I'm not here to give you relationship advice, but help with intimacy," he says.

It would be nice to have someone to go to with this stuff and I do want a normal relationship with Scott. What if I still have the same problem I had before? Damon can't help me. What's he going to do? Coach me on giving Scott a blow-job? I'm sure Damon would love that. "Not good enough," I state. "I don't need or want your advice and I won't do anything for you if you continue to hold the prostitution ring nonsense over my head."

Damon hesitates, his eyes searching my drunk ones. "You continue to be in a fake relationship with me and I'll help you find your nanny and I'll destroy the documentation I have on your friend, Jessa."

"You could do that?"

"Stone was set free earlier and your nanny works here, it shouldn't be hard."

I stick out my hand. "Deal."

He shakes it with a smile that makes me wish I never said "deal".


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There is a special place in hell for people out shopping on Black Friday, that time-honored tradition when after consuming an unhealthy amount of tryptophan and pecan pie, the masses wake up at midnight to fight over 20% off a flatscreen television. Which is why every year I tell Caroline that I don't want to go, and every year, she honks her car horn at one in the morning until I get in her car and tag along while she buys gifts for her family and everyone she knows.

I'm in the middle of the Barbie aisle at Target, picking at a cinnamon roll the size of my head, when Caroline hits me over the shoulder with a Doctor Barbie doll, causing me to drop a chunk of cinnamon goodness. "Dammit, Caroline," I say, picking up the piece off the floor and tossing it back in the white paper bag. "That piece had a lot of cream cheese frosting on it."

"I've been trying to get your attention for five minutes," Caroline argues. She holds up the Barbie. "Do you think Lizzy will like this?"

I frown. Poor Lizzy. I reach across the aisle and pick up a zombie hunter Nurf gun. "I think Lizzy will like this more."

Caroline looks at it with the slightest amount of disgust mixed with frustration and throws it into the shopping cart. "I don't think she's mine."

I lick a bit of cream cheese off my fingers, placing the white pastry back back in the cart. "The scars on my hand from when your nails dug into my flesh during contractions says otherwise."

Caroline hums, purposefully ignoring me.

"Did you end up going to your Aunt Samantha's for Thanksgiving?" Caroline asks, moving the cart down another aisle.

Aunt Sam's. My knees hurt just thinking about the two hour Thanksgiving service we'd have to attend before dinner is served. An hour-long sermon about being thankful and an hour of prayer in hot and itchy clothing. I scratch my neck. "You know that I haven't seen Aunt Sam in years."

"Then where were you? I tried calling to see if you wanted to come over and meet Tyler's cousin Tripp, but you didn't answer."

Tripp? Seriously?

If Caroline realized I was no longer a virgin, the floodgates would open and she'd set me up with every single guy from the age of barely legal to barely divorced. Before she knew the truth, she just thought I was shy and anti-social, now that she knows there's a reason, and if she knew said reason was taken care of, she'll become Little Miss Matchmaker and I'll suddenly have online dating profiles I've never and would never set up. Caroline's childhood dream is for us to be pregnant and married together like some bad 80's sitcom.

And if she knew about Damon and our arrangement, that'd be so much worse. Much much worse if she knew about the amazing sex, although I don't have anything to compare it with, based on my extensive research reading erotic romance novels, I'd argue my first time could compete. Considering I didn't have a panic attack and blackout, I think amazing is a proper adjective to describe my first time.

Shit. I'm going to have to lie.

"I was at home," I say truthfully because I was at home at one point in the day.

"Only at home?"

Time to deflect.

"What difference does it make where I was? I answered your 1:00 AM booty call."

She laughs. "Well, you would've liked Tripp."

I doubt that very much. I pick up an Elsa princess doll with a blue velvet dress and look at it just to have something to look at. Caroline's youngest, Elise might like the doll.

She doesn't let it go. "He's an ophthalmologist, and you know what they say about the eyes…"

Elsa's dress is an ivory sea blue, like Damon's eyes.

"…they're the window to the soul," she finishes.

Ivory sea blue and ice, that's Damon's soul. Blackmailing me into a fake relationship. At the diner he said that this was the start. What else will he ask me to do? How far will he take this?

"Elena?"

"Hmmm?"

"You're squeezing Elsa."

I look down at my hand, wrapped around the stuffed doll's body.

Shit.

"Just making sure the cotton doesn't come out when Elise plays with her," I reply, putting the doll in the cart. "Is Tripp still in town?"

"Currently residing in my basement watching football with Tyler and Matt, who asked about you, by the way."

"Matt's in town too?"

Caroline nods. "Permanently. Some government job, I wasn't really paying attention. Lizzy had just thrown a turkey drumstick at Carol's forehead and I had to reprimand the little troublemaker without laughing and high-fiving her."

"Lizzy threw a drumstick at Carol's head?"

"Carol made the dumb mistake of telling Mike that he should be studying instead of playing football with Tyler and the other kids because he has to work harder at school than some other kids, and you know how defensive Lizzie is of her brother," Caroline explained.

If I was there, something much larger than a turkey drumstick would've been thrown. "Be glad I wasn't there," I tell Caroline.

"Mason literally told Carol to fuck off."

I smile. I always did like Mason. When Caroline went full-on bridezilla and chewed me out for not ordering the right kind of limo at the combined bachelor and bachelorette party, Mason brought up the fact that it was a little too weird that Tyler is marrying someone that's three letters away from being his mother. Completely took the heat of bridezilla off of me.

"Sounds like everyone was at your Thanksgiving," I comment.

Thank the good lord I didn't go. I'd take being called a whore by a complete stranger over getting interrogated by people who've known me since I was in diapers.

"You should come over later. Tyler bought expensive imported beer and a new pool table," she says, knowingly enticing me.

I smile and shrug. Good beer and pool is tempting. As I turn my head from the shelves and back to the cart to grab my pumpkin spice latte sitting in the cup holder, I see a lady wearing a t-shirt that says, " _Black Friday: Shopping tip #6: If someone has been trampled, gently reach over them to get your TV._ " eying our shopping cart. Caroline was able to scoop up two of the latest iPad Pros at a discounted price and Beats headphones, all currently sold out and that's exactly what this lady is looking at. And the bitch is actually smiling because I'm blocked in and Caroline is away from the cart looking at Captain America action figures.

I glare at her, almost daring the lady to make a move. She better not touch a single item in the cart, those gifts are for Caroline's family. "Everyone smiles with that invisible gun to their head," I say to her as a warning just as she grabs the iPads, quoting one of my favorite movies, right before I chase after her.

I go the opposite direction to cut her off at another aisle, where I see her wearing that stupid shirt, running right at me. Toys start flying off shelves as she pummels down the aisle at top rhino speed, the iPads clasped in her hands.

I'm standing in the aisle with my arms and legs out in a squat, blocking her only exit. "Get out of my way," she yells.

"Gladly, once you give me back what you stole."

She makes a break for it and bulldozes me, but I'm not that much of a pushover and I take her with me as I fall down, grabbing onto the first thing I can hold onto, her boobs. She falls over, the iPads scatter to where Caroline, who just arrived on scene, picks them up and places them back in the cart, and yells a string of an encouraging combination of swear words. Ever the motivational speaker.

The crazy shopper topples on top of me and slaps me across the face as she tries to push me away in an effort to get me to relent so she can go after the iPads again. The slap stings and I feel a level of anger and frustration that I've been feeling for the past twenty-four hours directed at the woman who just hit me.

In the words of the great Tyler Durden, the lower you fall, the higher you fly, and even though her heavy body is straddling mine and I'm pinned against the tile floor, I open fisted slap the bitch in the middle of Target. Her head snaps back and aims to hit me again, but I dodge the punch and she slams her fist into the tile. She rolls off of me and squeals in pain, I get up as her friends, wearing the same stupid shirt, come over.

"What happened, Donna?" A lady with a perm and magenta cheeks asks, helping her friend up. Her other friend stands by her side.

Donna gets up, holding one hand over her hurt cheek and uses the other to point at me. "That Angel Falls piece of trash stole my iPads."

Oh shit, no she didn't.

"Funny," I say, getting up. "But he iPads _you_ tried to steal were purchased in the electronics department and not only could I have you arrested for attempting to steal something worth over fifteen-hundred dollars, I could add assault onto the charge. I hope you're ready to lawyer up."

Donna's eyes widen and her friends try to get her to go with them. "I was just messing with you," she says, holding her cheek. "All in the spirit of Black Friday fun."

They leave and I breathe a sigh of relief. I could take on Donna, but it would've gotten difficult with Tweedledee and Tweedledum as her back up.

"I haven't bought these yet," Caroline says, finally speaking up, holding up the iPads, while I hobble back to the cart. My ass really hurts.

"It's called lying, Caroline. I was trying to get them to back off," I reply.

"Are you okay?" she asks, handing me my latte.

I take a sip. "Yeah."

No.

"Good, we should probably check-out in case they come back," she says.

We push the cart to the check-out line when I feel my phone vibrate. I take it out of my pocket and look at the screen.

 **Damon: found your nanny. coming to get you.**

I spin around. Does he know where I am? I honestly wouldn't put it past him.

"You okay, Elena?" Caroline asks. "You're acting weird."

Caroline cannot meet him. Ever.

"Fine," I mumble, typing a reply on my phone.

 **Me: I'll meet you at the starbucks on third street.**

 **Damon: here**

Shit.

 **Me: Here where?**

 **Damon: Target**

It's time to ditch Caroline before Damon finds me.

 **Damon: Who's the hot friend?**

Oh, dear lord.

"Caroline, I need to go," I say, leaving. "My entire body aches from the Black Friday brawl I was just in."

"Well take an Advil and power through. You can't just go, we still have five other stores to hit."

"Call me about tonight," I reply, hoping the fact that I'll go to her place for the first time in months will mollify her.

I don't look for her reaction, instead, I hobble out of the sliding glass doors with my purse slung over my shoulder.

"Boo!" Damon yells from around the corner, scaring the shit out of me and almost knocking me over.

"Jesus," I shout, pushing him out of the way.

"Scaredy Cat," he mocks, laughing.

I grab the sleeve of his jacket and pull him away from front doors of the store. "How did you find me?"  
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.

"You pinned me?" I ask, feeling my anger rise. Those ladies really put me in a mood.

He holds up a finger, asking me to wait, while I try to push the urge to slap him aside. Mainly because my hand still hurts from earlier, but if he pinned my phone so he could track me, I'm literally going fight club on his ass.

He hands me his phone, showing me a picture Caroline posted on Instagram of me and her drinking our third latte of the morning at the Starbucks inside of Target. Caroline and I are wearing matching turkey mittens and holding up our cups because the barista is a former student, so she wrote Mrs. Lockwood and Ms. Gilbert on our cups.

I give Damon back his phone. "You follow Caroline on Instagram?"

I rarely to never post on Instagram. The only reason I have a personal account is because Caroline bugged me to get one.

"No, but I follow you and she tagged you in the photo."

" _You_ have an Instagram account?"

Damon doesn't strike me as the type of person to be on social media.

He shrugs. "How else am I going to make fun of Stefan? The guy paid a professional to create his layout and make his icon. He just posted a picture of his avocado toast this morning. Hashtag Blessed."

I laugh. Caroline is the same way.

 _Caroline_.

"We need to go," I say. "Where's your car?"

Damon looks at me quizzically. "Why are you in such a hurry?"

If my best friend meets you, she'll want to know how we met, and I'll never hear the end of it.

"You found my nanny, right?"

Damon nods, but eyes my cheek suspiciously. I wonder if the iPad stealing bitch really did leave a mark. "You're acting weirder than usual," he observes.

Seriously?

"Seriously? Weirder than usual? Weirder than the time I thought you were a hooker, or weirder than the time your dad called me a whore at the Thanksgiving table?"

Damon grimaces. "Fair point."

Damon looks at the doors of the store and then back at me. He doesn't completely believe me, but he starts walking in the direction of the parking lot anyways.

He opens up the car door to a black Land Rover and I try to hop in, but my body aches so I know there's a grimace on my face as I sit down. Fucking huge-ass Land Rovers. It's not like Angel Falls deals with snowstorms, and last I checked, the apocalypse hasn't happened yet.

"What's wrong?" Damon asks, smoothly getting into the front seat. "Get into a Thanksgiving slap fight over the latest Tickle-Me Elmo?"

I freeze. "First of all, I'd never give a child the Sesame Street version of Chucky and second, it was two iPads."

Damon tries to give me a look of mild concern, but deep chuckle escapes.

"I'd smack you right now," I say, putting on my seatbelt. "But my hand still hurts."

He starts the ignition, full on laughing. "You know, there's this thing called online shopping. You don't even have to leave home, the items come to you."

I toss him a sardonic look. "Yes, please impart your shopping wisdom, oh holy one."

"There's a reason I pay people to do it for me, Elena," he replies with a smirk. Jackass.

We drive for a little bit when I ask him where we're going and he explains that the address he found belongs in Diego Falls.

"How long had it been since you'd seen Ada?" he asks.

How do I explain this without having to go into too much detail?

"A while," I replied, lamely.

"She must've meant a lot to you for you to go to all this trouble," he comments.

I gaze out the window as we drive, watching the cold wind blow tall grass over empty yards. Houses with smoke billowing from its chimney. The person that held me and let me cry on her shoulder when I had to move in with my Aunt Sam? The person that kept me safe, always? What do I say about her?

"I loved her," I reply.

Damon doesn't say anything after that. I don't know if I made him feel uncomfortable or if his mind was on other things, but the drive into Diego Falls feels empty, like the weight of the silence caused me to forget we had a destination at all.

Damon turns on the radio, flipping through stations until he finds a news station. We both sit and listen, his pale eyes distant, but still on the road and my head leaning on the cool window glass.

"In other news, Diego Falls continues to battle the growing influx of a new drug they're calling Kite or KT. The drug is a highly addictive combination of cocaine and prescription drugs and according to the biochemists at Angel Falls University Hospital, has the highest potency of any other drug on the market. KT is allegedly responsible for over five dozen deaths, including the murder of the son of Diego Falls Mayor, Oscar Villa. Thousands gathered at Angel Falls Central Park, to listen to the leader of the Divine Fellowship Church, Dixon Wentworth, speak on the subject, as concern of the impact of KT's popularity will affect Angel Falls. " _In times like these, we must turn toward God and ask for help. I've asked and he's answered. We are a fortunate community in Angel Falls, and we must ask ourselves, how can we help fight in this new war on our youth, our brothers, and sisters who are in pain? I'll tell you how. We do it by keeping the youth of our cities safe. I propose we set a curfew for those under the age of eighteen, increase the number of police officers roaming the streets, increase the number of community service hours required to graduate high school to keep our kids off the streets, and when we say we have a zero-tolerance policy, we mean zero tolerance and we will prosecute violators to the highest extent of the law_."

Damon turns off the radio before the newscast finished, plainly irritated.

Intrigued, I sit up and turn towards him, my right elbow on the armrest. Something about this topic bothers him. "They're worried that the drug problem in Diego Falls will start to affect Angel Falls. His proposal is harsh, but maybe it'll help until they get a handle on it in Diego Falls."

"Read between the lines," Damon says. "Thousands of people gather to watch a religious leader speak on politics."

"You think President Wentworth wants to get into politics?" I ask.

Damon turns and gives me a funny look and I realize my mistake. Years of a habit, calling people Brother, Sister, Bishop, President still hasn't worn off. As President of the Church, that's how we were to address him.

"Do you know him?"

In another life, one that I'd like to forget. "He came to my Aunt Samantha's house a lot when I was younger. She's active in his church."

"You attend his church."

"Attended," I correct. "Every Sunday until I left Aunt Sam's house."

"So she _made_ you go?"

Made me participate in every lame youth activity, including scripture study before school every day. "She was worried I'd turn into a harlot," I laugh, more to myself. "Funny how things turned out."

"Your crazy aunt isn't the only one devoted to Wentworth," he says. "He has half the town's ear, with that kind of support, he could be very powerful."

"But Diego Falls does have a problem. I was just there on a solo movie date," -oh my God, I cannot believe the words solo movie date came out of my mouth. "-and saw kids dealing out in the open."

"Solo movie date?"

I could die right now. Jesus take the wheel.

"Yup, the theater in Diego Falls has good popcorn."

Damon sucks in a breath and tightens his grip on the wheel. "Don't ever go to Diego Falls alone."

The day I take orders from Damon is the day hell freezes over and I go back to church.

"Why would I ever take orders from you?"

"Because I never want to read the headline, _Elementary School Librarian Murdered For Being a Stubborn Pain in the Ass_ , in the morning paper."

"Title's a bit wordy," I reply.

Damon pulls the car off the side of the road in front of a chain-link fence, obviously pissed. He emanates heat, making me want to take my jacket off. Maybe he is a spawn from hell. A spawn that can control my physical reactions. Possibly read my mind.

He unbuckles his seatbelt, places one hand on each of my shoulders, and looks me straight in the eyes. And dammit, the look he's giving me is all protective, controlling, annoying, and hot as fuck. "Diego Falls isn't safe right now."

I shift in my seat and try to give him my steeliest of steel glares. "No shit, Sherlock, but what you don't know about me, is that I've taken care of myself for most of my life, and I am still standing."

He leans over the console, unbuckles _my_ seatbelt, and suddenly I'm pushed back against the seat with no escape. Damon mere centimeters from my face, hovering, licking his lips. I think he might kiss me and I think I might want him to. His lips look soft and when I inhale, I can smell the earthiness of coffee on his breath. His eyes roam my face and stop at my lips. Thinking. Thinking.

Just when I think he's going to dip his head and capture my mouth, his lips move to my ear and just the tip of his nose grazes my cheek. "Don't forget what happens to little rabbits when they escape," he whispers, huskily.

My breathing quickens and I lick my lips. He deeply inhales the scent of my hair and nips my earlobe just as he opens my door.

Jesus. Fucking. Christ.

His voice is a low, rich growl. "We're here."

I practically fall out of the car. I need a glass of water.

Or a minute in the bathroom alone.

With Damon.

Damon throws me a knowing smirk as we walk the path to Ada's house. She lives in a small track house with graffiti on the side of her tan stucco home that I'm guessing wasn't done by Ada. The porch has a worn whicker rocking chair with paint coming off the wood. The floral yellow cushion looks as though it was once a cream color. A chain link fence surrounds the house and the lawn looks dead, which leaves me with an ominous feeling.

I open the storm door to knock on the inside door, but there's no answer. Damon stands behind me, keeping watch. Probably making sure his car doesn't get jacked. The street is empty and although Ada's yard is small, she's a distance apart from her neighbors.

I lean in to peer through the bars on her windows, but Ada's home looks dark. I knock again and call our her name. Nothing.

"She's not answering," I comment, leaving her front porch, avoiding a broken piece of the floor board, and walking around to the back of her home.

Damon chases after me. "She's not here, Elena. We can come back another time."

I reach her locked chain link fence and push it to see if it'll open, but all I get is a clanking noise of the locked gate. "She was frantic when I approached her and tried to scare me off, something is going on."

"Did you ever think there's a reason she was trying to scare you off? Like it might be dangerous to approach her?"

"That's exactly what I think," I say, climbing the fence to hop over it. "She's in trouble and I'm going to help her."

The fence is only five feet high, but I still have to stick my feet in the wiring in order to climb over and jump from the top. I'm lucky that I don't rip my jacket or fall on my ass. I've fallen on my ass enough for one day, and I'm not entirely sure I'd be able to get up. Damon would have to carry me. Tempting, but I'll pass. My feet land on the dirt and I start to walk to the back of Ada's house.

With a thud, I hear Damon behind me climbing over the fence, following close behind me. Out of the pocket of my peacoat, I take out the turkey gloves I wore earlier when I was out with Caroline. Considering I've already entered private property without permission, I don't want my fingerprints to be anywhere in case I actually have to enter Ada's house in a not so legal manner.

Damon mimics my actions and puts on his own leather gloves. "My day just got a whole lot more interesting."

"Still better than eating with your family," I point out.

"I don't know about that," Damon muses. "You were quite enjoyable to watch yesterday."

"Your family does know good alcohol." I was perfectly drunk by the time I got home. I think I still might be a little drunk.

"A gift passed down from generation to generation," he jokes.

I reach the back door and look for a spare key or something that will allow me to enter without having to do what I think I might have to do. I look under a rock, under the plastic doormat, on top of the plastic black security lamp next to the door, but don't find anything.

I tug the back door, but it's locked. I notice something, marks near the lock like at some point someone tried to pry the door loose. The marks look fresh and there's a chip of wood missing from the door frame. I look down at my feet and see the exact piece of wood. Picking it up, I observe it. The wood looks fresh, but the sides match the same paint as her doorframe. Someone broke in recently. Was this what Ada was warning me about?

Unlike her front door, there aren't any iron bars on the windows in the back of her house. I try to peer in, but the glass is too foggy like it hasn't been cleaned in a while. I unbutton my peacoat and hand it to Damon, who looks at me curiously. I take off the long sleeved shirt I'm wearing, revealing a peach camisole. I wrap the long sleeved shirt around my gloved hand.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Damon yells. "I'm all for bending the law, but I didn't realize we'd really be breaking and entering this morning. We need to be careful, Elena."

"Calm down, princess," I quip, before Damon can stop me. "You won't be doing the breaking." I punch the window, breaking the glass and loosen the grip on my shirt so my gloved hand can unlock the deadbolt.

I carefully pull my hand out of the broken window and turn the knob. "Ada!" I call out as I enter her kitchen, tying my long sleeved shirt around my waist to avoid potential shards of glass, Damon hands me my peacoat and I put it back on. He silently asks me if I'm okay, and I give him a nod in affirmation.

I think I'm okay, I don't see any blood, but this expedition has gotten so much worse.

My eyes scan the room. The sink is full of dirty dishes, there's a pot on the stove that looks as though it still had a meal in it, ready to be eaten. Wait. I look back at the sink. A cutting board, knife, wooden spoon, mixing bowl, rubber spatula, colander, all things meant for preparing a meal. A meal that was never eaten.

Something about this doesn't seem right. Her warnings come to mind as I walk over to the sink and grab the knife, while Damon follows and casually looks into the pot on the stove. "Boiled cabbage, yum," he says, wearing a look on his face that expresses anything but a desire to eat whatever is in the pot.

I promptly ignore Damon and make my way through the house. It's plainly decorated. No photos or paintings, this place is just a roof over her head. It doesn't feel like Ada. She exploded with so much personality, it must've really annoyed Aunt Samantha. When I'd just moved into Aunt Samantha's house, I wanted to put up a poster of a boyband I was in love with. Aunt Samantha came into my room and ripped it off of my wall because she didn't want me thinking about boys in _that_ way. Ada dug into the garbage, smoothed it out, and helped me put the poster up in my closet, where Aunt Sam wouldn't see it.

With the knife firmly in my hand, I lightly knock on a closed door. When I don't hear an answer, I open it. My eyes widen in horror and I drop the knife, Damon covers my mouth and pulls me against his body as I let out a wail. Ada, my nanny, hanging from the ceiling fan, her face slack against the rope.

She warned me. Something happened. This is my fault. I suck back the tears, like I've so expertly gotten good at, and pry my face away from Damon's jacket. "I'm fine," I croak.

I am so not fine. I'll cry later. I'll digest this later.

"We need to call the police," he says.

I shake my head. "Not yet," I argue. "The moment they arrive this will become a crime scene and I won't be able to find out what happened."

"Elena, you hadn't seen her for years, and when you did, you were drunk. We don't know what happened, but she seems to have been into some shady shit. Let the police handle this," he argues.

Damon eyes me with concern and it's infuriating. "I know what I heard, and she was scared. She ran away from me like I was going to get her killed and look what happened? You can leave and I'll figure out a way to get home, or you can help me go through her things."

He waves his hands in the air in surrender. "Fine. What are we looking for?"

I have no fucking clue.

I sigh. "Anything that looks off for an elderly German hotel employee."

Trying as hard as I can to pretend her body isn't there and not hanging from the ceiling fan. There's a desk on the other side of the room, so, avoiding her body, I make my way to the desk. With my mittens on, I rifle through her things. Electric bills, pay stubs, receipts for groceries and the pharmacy. Nothing seems out of the ordinary until I try to open up the bottom right drawer of her desk, but it's locked. I start searching for a key, looking in cupboards, everywhere, but I don't see anything.

Sirens wail in the distance.

"Damon!" I yell.

He runs to me, looking frantic, holding what looks like a receipt. "What? Are you okay?"

"Did you call the police?"

He looks genuinely offended. "No."

Shit.

The wails of the sirens get louder. Someone must've seen me break in. Shit. The police will know we didn't call them and we could be arrested. Wait. We will be arrested if we're caught.

"We've got to get out of here," I say.

He nods, placing what he was holding in his pocket, we leave the way we came, sprinting out of the house and hopping the fence, we practically jump into the car and peel away, crossing paths with the police on our way out of the neighborhood. My heart still racing, I put my hand on my chest in an attempt to calm myself down. I take off my jacket and try to breathe and constantly turn around to look in the rearview mirror to see if the police follow.

If I'm arrested, I'll be immediately fired from my job, and the scary realization is that in that moment, I don't care.

"Take this," Damon says, handing me a silver flask from the inside of his jacket. "It'll help."

I unscrew the cap and knock it back, letting the liquid scald my veins. I take sips while Damon drives.

"What was the paper you were holding before we left?" I finally ask.

Damon pulls over to the side of the road, takes the paper out of his jacket, and hands it to me. It's a receipt for a bouquet of specially ordered edelweiss from a flower shop.

"This is what you decide to grab?"

"Look at the date."

It's from yesterday.

"Did you see any flowers in the house?"

I shake my head. No, I didn't.

"She saw someone. Maybe if we go to the store, the employees will know something. Maybe she sent the flowers to someone," I conclude. "It's a long shot, but worth it."

"Where do you think we're heading?"

He'd do that for me? "This wasn't part of the deal," I admit.

He shrugs. "After what I made you sit through yesterday, and what you will have to sit through in the future, consider your quest to solve this mystery part of the deal."

"Thank you," I sigh, relieved in an odd way.

He gently tucks a loose lock of hair behind my ear. "You're welcome," he softly replies.

I clear my throat because I shouldn't feel like kissing Damon right now, especially after what I saw. It must be adrenalin.

"We should get going," I state, purposefully ruining the moment.

Damon sits back and starts the car. We drive in silence until he pulls into the parking lot of a small whitewashed cottage with various flowers out front. I take one step outside and immediately know where the flowers went. "Uh…Damon?" I say, pointing across the street.

"What?" He walks over to me from his side of the car, and his eyes follow where I'm pointing, a graveyard. "Well, that explains why the flowers weren't in her home."

"I'll go inside and see if the shopkeeper knows anything," I explain. "Alone."

I needed space from Damon, but of course, he ignores me and follows. The sound of a bell goes off as we walk in. The shop is full of flowers from all over the world, and smells amazing. There's green containers with baby's breathe and lemon leaves, daisies, sunflowers, and lilies.

On my right a large refrigerator holding roses of every color and various hydrangeas on, where a slender young woman wearing a jean apron and black skinny jeans greets us. She could be a model, with her long ebony hair and stunning sharp cheekbones. Her golden almond eyes take one look at Damon and she takes a step back, color rising from her neck to her cheeks. I think I hear her actually sigh.

My eyes roll and I tap my foot impatiently, waiting for her to say something other than _hello._

Damon gives her that look, the panty-dropping look that he throws whenever he wants something. I know the look only too well because I've fallen for it and seem to continue to fall for it. I'm an idiot.

Damon takes the receipt out of my hands. "I was wondering if you know anything about this receipt from Ada Bach."

She bites her lip. "I'm not supposed to give out information on customers."

Damon walks over, takes her hand, opens it, and places the receipt in her palm.

Smooth.

She might faint. He gazes into her eyes. "Please."

Oh good lord. Ever the player. He cannot turn it off for two seconds. Just can't help himself. It's the ladies at the diner a couple nights ago all over again.

She reads the receipt. "Well, I can tell you that Ada was very sweet."

Doesn't help us at all.

I fold my arms. "We're looking for a little more than that. You don't have to break any rules or go into your computer, just tell us what you remember. You obviously remember something if you remembered her demeanor."

She gazes at Damon full length and then back at the receipt.

"Ada specially ordered edelweiss every month for the past couple of years and would walk them across the street. I'm sorry, but I don't know much more than that."

Damon takes a step toward her, takes her hand and kisses the back of it. "Thank you," he looks at her name tag. "Candy."

She giggles.

I want to gag.

We leave the store and without speaking to Damon, I head across the street at top speed, towards the graveyard. He was all swoony and sweet in the car, and suddenly he's all over the girl in the store.

I can't believe I fell for it.

Not again. Never again.

"Elena!" He exclaims, trying to catch up.

"Why aren't you fucking the little stripper among the flowers?"

"Stripper?"

"Candy obviously has a nighttime gig that doesn't involve selling flowers."

"She isn't the flower I just plucked."

I spin around in the middle of the street and with a hell of a lot of pent-up aggression, push him with both hands across the expanse of his chest. He doesn't move and it's fucking irritating.

"Really?" I shout.

"Hey," he says, grabbing my wrists. I think he's worried I'll start throwing punches, which, let's face it, is a real possibility after the morning I've had.

His hands clasped around my wrists, he continues. "You and I both know this has nothing to do with what happened in the flower shop. You just lost someone and you're trying to figure out what happened. Let's take a beat, get some lunch, and come back to this."

I lift my knee up and step on his foot as hard as I can. He lets go of my wrists and swears. "I'll take one side of the graveyard, you take the other. Holler if you find edelweiss."

I walk through the gates of the Diego Falls Memorial Lawn and start my search, running from grave to grave, looking for white flowers that have recently been placed. After close to an hour looking, I find it. Christof Diefenbach.

I stare in horror and collapse. Sobs escape and don't stop as I pound my fists on the cool wet grass. I feel warm familiar arms wrap around me, as I kneel, crouched over.

He doesn't ask what happened, or who the person is, he waits. I look at the name again and the god-awful date. "Records were sealed, so I never knew the name," I explain. "The accident when I was twelve. The drunk driver that hit me as I was running across the street went to jail, I didn't know his name, but I know the day he died because the day it happened, I was over at the lawyer's house playing pool with his son and eating cupcakes, it was Logan's birthday. I heard Mr. Breckenridge talking on the phone," I squeeze my eyes and try to remember. "Elena's safe, he died in the hospital wing of the prison."

"You're saying that…"

I look at the name. Christof Diefenbach. "Ada changed her name when she came to the United States, she shortened it to Bach. Her son was the drunk driver that hit me. He must've been. It's too much of a coincidence that Ada's son died the same day as the drunk driver. That's not all, Ada stopped being my nanny after the accident. My Aunt Samantha said she left to take care of family in Germany, but suddenly, I don't think that was true."

It doesn't make sense. I received a huge settlement from the accident and Ada didn't have that kind of money, unless her son did. I needed to know more. "We need to go back to Ada's house."

Damon shakes his head. "No. You've been through a lot and the police will be swarming the place."

"If you don't take me right now, I'll go myself. Either way, I'm going back to Ada's."

Damon tries to rationalize with me. "And what are you going to say to the police? There are neighbors that can identify us on the scene before the cops came. My car, Elena."

"We'll tell them the truth, that I was looking for Ada and was worried."

Damon sighs, relenting. "Only reason I'm agreeing to this is because I have a very expensive lawyer on retainer."

XXX

A couple of police cruisers are parked in front of Ada's home, but it's eerily quiet. I expected her house to be roped off with yellow police tape, maybe a few reporters camped out on the front lawn, but anyone passing by would think this was a routine stop.

Damon and I get out of the car and walk up to the house when one of the officers stops me. For a second, I think he's going to arrest us on the spot, but he just asks, "Are you family?"

I hesitate. Can I get arrested for lying about this? "She was like family. What happened?"

"Suicide," he replies, shrugging. "Hung herself."

Suicide? Who commits suicide in the middle of making dinner?

I shake my head. "That's not possible. Ada was a devoted Catholic and believed people who committed suicide were condemned to hell."

"Miss, I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but the medical examiner ruled that she died of asphyxiation. We may never know why she decided to do it, but all evidence points to that as the cause of death," he says.

"Was there a note?" Damon asks.

I have to say something. There's a reason she as afraid when I saw her. This is their job, right? Finding out the truth? Putting the people responsible behind bars?

"I saw her yesterday, and she was scared, frantic. She ran away from me and told me to leave Angel Falls. Said it was evil," I explain.

The officer looks at me sadly, but it only frustrates me more. Shouldn't he take my statement? Take me to the police department and question me? Are all Diego Falls cops this unprofessional?

The officer stands with his hands on his hips, like my nanny's death was an inconvenience. "There was no note, but she was obviously senile. This happens to the elderly more than you'd think."

Is he for real? I turn to Damon who looks equally frustrated.

"Thank you for your time, officer," Damon says, and grasping my shoulders firmly, he directs me back to the car. I try to get away from him, but his grip is too firm.

"Damon!" I hiss through clenched teeth, finally freeing myself, I head back to the house. "I need to get back into that house."

"Elena, so help me God, I will throw you over my shoulder and carry you to the car."

The officer is back in the house, and I can see him laughing with another officer through the barred front window of Ada's home. Are they drinking cognac out of her crystal tumblers? I am going to walk right in there and give them a piece of my-

"Damon!" I scream, suddenly upside-down and heading to Damon's car. "I can't believe you!"

I smack his firm backside. "Let me go!"

It's no surprise that no one hears or acts like anything unusual is happening. This is Diego Falls and apparently, the police force is too dumb to see that all signs point to murder.

I'm going to kill Damon.

We're at the passenger side of the car. "I'm going to let you down so you can get in the front seat, but you need to promise me that you won't run back."

I ball my hands in a fist, start pounding his backside, and flail, trying to free myself. Damon opens the back seat, throws me in, and I hear the child lock click.

Damn him.

He gets in the front seat and starts the car, ignoring my protests.

After he pulls away from Ada's home, I decide ignoring him is the best alternative. "Elena," he says, calmly. "If Ada was murdered…"

"She _was_ murdered," I state. Dammit, couldn't keep quiet.

"Fine," he says. "But that means someone did it and if they saw you at her home, they may come after you."

I swallow.

Damon continues. "No matter which way you look at it, you are connected to what happened. You saw her at the hotel yesterday, she tried to warn you away from her, and now she's dead. Her son was probably the person that ran you over when you were twelve."

"She was probably warned to stay away from me and I didn't listen," I add.

"Maybe they killed her to protect you," Damon conjectures.

"An old lady that I considered family? The lady that taught me to make bread? How could she be of any danger to me?" I ask.

"Then they did it because she knows something."

I put my head in my hands. This just got so much worse. "Something they don't want me knowing, or they don't want out in the open."

Like Damon said, either way, I'm connected to what happened. The police don't care or are part of a cover-up.

I may have just poked the bear.

Fuck.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Caroline: where are you?

Caroline: WHERE ARE YOU?

Caroline: Get your butt over here right now.

Caroline: Don't do this to me again!

Caroline: ELENA GILBERT GET YOUR SKINNY ASS OVER HERE OR SO HELP ME GOD I WILL SICK THE KIDS ON YOU

Caroline: I'LL SEND TYLER OVER TO DRAG YOU BACK HERE

Caroline: You promised.

Caroline: Elena…

Caroline: let's get coffee when you're feeling up to it

I'm a horrible friend. I saw Caroline's text messages a few hours ago and didn't hesitate to ignore them. Truth is, the moment I committed to going, I immediately regretted it. Tyler, Matt, Tripp, Caroline and the kids? I'd be looking for an exit the moment I arrived, or I'd slip away and hide in the kids' playroom. Elise's princess tent is a great reading spot.

But that's only part of the reason I'm avoiding Caroline. I've been lying to her so much lately, she'll see the stress of everything written all over my face and she'll pry the lies out of me with her manipulative, perfectly manicured hands.

And I honestly don't know where to start because the lies and the truth seem to have melded in my mind. Do I start by telling her that her ability to trust someone so much with her whole life, her entire being, is completely foreign to me, like watching a romantic dramedy without the good popcorn and ending credits? Or do I tell her that I came to terms with being alone almost twenty years ago? That I know our friendship has an expiration date, and as her children grow older and older, and her circle of friends include more nuclear families, I'll become insignificant, that weird friend who had sex once and didn't know how to function with too many people around? The weird friend that looked for an exit whenever more than a few people were involved?

Quite honestly, I think if I wait this out, Caroline will drop me before I have to talk to her. But I understand, really. Her reaction to my confession about being a virgin was more telling than she realizes. I'm not stupid. She pawned the problem off onto her cousin, immediately involved someone else so she wouldn't have to deal with it. But like I said, I get it. I'm still that the lonely graveyard girl, whose parents tragically died when she was eight.

I'm currently lying on the floor staring at the wrought iron chandelier in my living room with my feet on the couch. Perfect thinking position. A few hours ago Damon dropped me off, but insisted he stay with me. I told him to go to hell and locked him out before he could get inside. I may get murdered, but he threw me over his shoulder and tossed me in the back of his car. He may be the one to have hopefully cured my intimacy issues, but that is no way to treat a grown ass adult.

Plus, Damon is a complication that I don't know how to deal with.

Plus, the whole blackmailing thing.

Plus, squishy feelings that make me want him near and yet make me want to punch him.

Plus, I need to go back to Ada's house. I need to find out what was in that locked drawer and if Damon knew, he'd want to go and excluding events he plans on making me attend, I forever want to leave him out of everything. Everything in my mind gets all fuzzy when he's around and right now, I need to figure out what the hell happened to Ada. I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe if I stare at the chandelier long enough, the lights will burn the image of her dead body swinging from the ceiling away.

Nope. Not bright enough.

I fling my hands over my eyes in frustration when I hear a knock at the door. I swear to baby Jesus if that is Damon, I'll tell him the deal is off and he can go ahead with his plans to out Jessa.

Shit.

Maybe I should get the door.

I can yell at him.

Call him an egotistical jackass again. That was fun.

I fling my legs over and crawl to the couch's armrest so I can prop myself up, knocking the empty wine bottle over on my way to a standing position. I stumble to the entryway and turn the doorknob.

"I don't care if you aren't a hooker, if I pay you to stop coming around, will you leave me alone?"

Laughter.

My eyes focus on whose standing before me and it's not Damon, it's Mason Lockwood. And he looks good. He may be several years older than me, but fuck, the man can wear a teeshirt and dark wash jeans well. Years of surfing and swimming made him lean, and he has a nice 5 o'clock shadow that somehow makes his grey blue eyes clearer. Damon's eyes always carry a shadow, a sexy possessive animalistic shadow.

Goddammit I cannot think about him right now.

I block Mason from entering by placing my body in front of the slightly open door. He's doubled over laughing and cannot be trusted. "Caroline sent you?"

"She's worried after you left so suddenly this morning, so I volunteered to check in on you," he replies. "I didn't realize you were expecting _someone_ else," he adds, knowingly.

Oh God. If I hadn't had so much wine, I'd be humiliated.

"Well," I say, waving at myself with both hands. "As you can see, I'm alive. You can go now."

"I brought cake," he lifts up a plastic container.

I raise an eyebrow. "Vanilla?"

"Homemade with chocolate frosting."

Caroline's good, she made Mason come armed. I wave him in. "You may enter."

I take the container out of Mason's hands and lead him to the kitchen.

"Is it true you got into a fight with some other shoppers?" He asks, sitting on a stool at the kitchen island, while I set the container on the counter and start making coffee.

"Does it count as a fight if it happens in the action figured aisle of Target between the hours of four and eight AM?"

He chuckles. "I heard you got bulldozed."

"I took the behemoth of a woman down with me and I saved Caroline's iPads."

I take out two mugs and fill them with coffee, then for good measure, I add Baileys. I slide Mason a mug of coffee and take a sip while getting out a couple of forks.

Mason takes a sip and smiles. "Elena's special coffee, how could I have forgotten?"

I shrug and take out a couple of forks, handing him one. I pop open the container and take a large bite of vanilla chocolate goodness. I actually sigh. "Damn, sometimes I forget how good Caroline's baking is."

Mason digs into the cake, loading his fork with most of the frosting. I knock some off his fork with the tines of my fork and give him a glare that could only read as, " _Don't you fucking dare_ ".

"So, what message are you supposed to send back to Caroline?" I ask.

Mason sits back on the stool and drinks from his mug, looking a little sheepish, a far cry from the world famous surfer. "The thing is," he rubs the back of his neck with his hand. "I'm supposed to ask you out, which is odd coming from Caroline, she usually refers to me as Uncle Manwhore."

I might kill Caroline, but it says something about our relationship that I'm not even surprised. "And what happens if I decline?"

"Caroline tells Carol that I took Tyler to his first strip club when he was sixteen."

Yikes. "That's harsh."

"Tell me about it. Carol would have no problem orchestrating my murder and Caroline knows it."

"I guess we'll have to go on a date then," I reply, surprising myself. It might be due to the fact that I've consumed my entire body weight in alcohol. Plus I have a habit of committing to things that I regret six hours later.

Mason smirks. "You really are a good person, you know that?"

Um, no I'm not. I'm drunk and also hope that if I go on a date with him I'll forget about my nanny swinging from the ceiling for a couple of hours.

Oh god, I might be sick.

"You okay?"

I nod and decidedly consume more alcohol, taking a large gulp of my coffee. "So, where are we supposed to go on this romantic date?"

"I'm supposed to go to a brunch at the Fells on Sunday, we could go to that and mock everyone in attendance?" he suggests.

Nope. That won't work because I have to go to it with Damon.

Damon.

This just got a little more complicated. If Mason has to go, how do I explain Damon?

And am I allowed to date during this arrangement? He did offer to help me get together with Scotty, so I assume it's okay. Best not to go to the Fell's with Mason _and_ Damon, though.

"I'd rather have tea and crumpets with Carol."

Mason swallows the bit of cake he was chewing, his eyes widen. "I'll take that as a no, then."

"That's a hell no."

"I didn't want to go to that brunch anyways," he replies.

Thank the good lord. No awkward bump-ins. I hide my relief by running my fork through some frosting.

A grin grows on his face that only worries me. "I'll surprise you, just be ready at eight, tomorrow night."

Is it wrong that the first thought that crosses my mind is that eight is a little late for me? I really need to get out more.

"Great," I reply, feeing not so great about this whole thing.

Mason stays until all the cake and coffee are gone. We talk about high school and make fun of Caroline. It's nice to just talk like nothing else is really going on. An escape from reality. Mason has always made me feel comfortable, so maybe this date isn't such a bad idea, maybe he's a good transition from virgin sex to Scotty, someone more my type, if I have one. Scotty's like a nerdy Prince Charming.

When he leaves, I put the dishes in the dishwasher, and clean up the kitchen before heading up to bed. It isn't until one in the morning that I'm lying on my king size bed, staring at the ceiling and thinking of Ada. I'm dead sober thinking and thinking and thinking. She'll get no justice. Her family back in Germany will think she committed suicide and probably won't collect her body because they're so religious. I need to know more about what happened.

I hop out of bed and put on some dark clothing, pulling my hair into a bun and tucking it into a black cap. I take out my dark blue backpack and put in a flashlight, a few tools, a notebook, and my Smith & Wesson 9mm. While I'm all for gun control, after the life I was dealt, I feel the need to protect myself with something stronger than mace, even though I bring that too. I'm trained and keep it locked in a safe under my bed.

When I have everything I think I need in my backpack, I get in my car and drive to Diego Falls, ignoring the acts of vandalism I witness at the late hour as I drive deeper into the town and further and further away from Angel Falls. Businesses I used to visit after a movie while in college, like the vintage clothing store on State Street, or the Bob's Ice Cream, which served the best banana ice cream have been closed for years, yet still remain, boarded up like a reminder of what once was.

The street where Ada's house is located is oddly quiet. Though there's the random pick-up truck or hatchback parked on someone's lawn, the air is that of a ghost town. There isn't any yellow tape marking Ada's house as a crime scene, no one would guess by looking at the small track house that a woman died there earlier.

I park a block away from Ada's house, behind a black Lexus that seems somewhat out of place, and taking my backpack I swiftly walk to Ada's house, keeping myself low and hiding in the shadows. When I get to the fence, I grasp the wire fence and pull myself up, kick my right leg over the fence and jump the rest of the way down, landing with a dull thud on my feet. The moonlight guides my path as I make my way to the back of the house, where, as expected, the window is still smashed in from my B&E earlier.

I enter the kitchen and it's weird. Before when I entered, it was with the hope that I'd see someone who held me the night we received the news that my parents had died and now, it's like when you immerse your entire head in water and look up. The world is still there, but rippled and distorted from a different perspective.

Blinking back thoughts that would prevent me from doing what I came to do, I take out my flashlight and walk to her bedroom and ignoring the ceiling she dangled from, I go to the desk. This time, I tear apart looking for a key. I look underneath the desk to see if it was taped at the bottom, I even use the butt of my flashlight to break the lock, but it won't budge. I stand up and spin around the room, looking for a hiding spot.

Where would Ada hide something?

My hands graze the tops of windowsills, I lift up every lamp, and then I see a bookshelf. I stand the books. Some are in German, some are old 1950's Readers Digests collections, in varying colors of worn evergreen and maroon. Then I see a book that I've seen hundreds of times. My copy of Anne of Green Gables, and somehow I know this is where she hid it. I pull it from the shelf and flip through the pages. Damn. Nothing.

This was stupid. Ada wasn't hiding anything. Of course I'd think this was some stupid conspiracy. Her son probably hit me, Aunt Suz fired her, and made sure I never saw her again. When I saw her, she was probably worried about me confronting her, so she made shit up and ran off. Filled with guilt over her son, she killed herself. That makes the most sense. Logical.

Irritated, I look at the mess I've created and slam the copy Anne of Green Gables on the floor. Glimmering in the light, something catches my eye. I lift up the book again, the old binding tore when it hit the ground, revealing a small taped key. Peeling off the key, I run to the desk and check the lock.

It clicks open.

Sitting on the floor, I take out all the files and using my flashlight, look through them. I'm so busy analyzing bank statements, that I ignore the faint creak in the flooring. There's a pattern of monthly withdrawals from a Swiss bank account for more money than I'm sure someone who's working at a hotel as a maid has. The thing is, the money is wired through three different accounts and I can't trace the last account. I put those files in my backpack.

 _Creak. Step. Creak._

I quickly grab my Smith & Wesson, turn off the safety, and aim it towards the doorway.

"I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't turned on right now," the voice mutters, a harsh undertone to his words.

"You really want to say that with a gun pointed at your head?" I say to Damon, refusing to lower my gun. His long gate and perfectly chiseled jaw come into view, wearing a v-neck black shirt and leather jacket, I almost don't notice the Glock in his hands.

For a moment we're at a standstill, both with guns pointed at each other. Not that either of us are going to shoot.

I don't think.

Neither of us move, but Damon takes a moment to track my frame. "Did you have that outfit in your closet, or do you break into other people's homes often?" He asks.

My gun lowers. I guess I blinked first.

I self consciously look at myself. Dark camouflage leggings, a black turtleneck and black cotton hoodie. I guess with my hair tucked into a black cap, I do look a bit like a burglar, but one portrayed in a movie. I don't know what real life burglars wear, probably leather and knit caps with black paint smudged on their face.

"Why are you here?" I ask, decidedly ignoring him.

Damon shrugs. "I was in the neighborhood."

"Bullshit," I bark. "You followed me."

He ignores me, places his gun in the back of his jeans, and looks at the mess of papers I've been scouring on the floor. "Did you find anything?"

"Ada had a lot more money than I thought," I reply, handing him the bank records I stuffed in my backpack.

Damon sits next to me and looks at the files, his eyes narrow. "Who do you think these payments are to?"

"You think they're payments?"

Damon nods, still looking at the document. "A consistent amount of money gets withdrawn from one account and placed in another account every month, I don't know who it's to, but it stopped about five years ago."

"Maybe she ran out of money and that's why she came back," I suggest.

Damon sifts through the documents, laying them out for him to look at in a way that makes sense to him. I look through the untouched files. I come across one that seems to have been damaged. I open up the file and gingerly take out the first document, her son, Christof Diefenbach's death certificate.

Under cause of death, it says suicide, which is what I was told by my Aunt Suz when I was a teenager. I look at the documents behind the file folder. It's a copy of hospital records, but the edges are burned. The top document is a copy of his hospital records, and according to the hospital records, Christof was diagnosed with stage four Hodgkin Lymphoma just six months before the accident. Imaging testing, CT scans, it looks like the doctor wanted to do a high-dose chemotherapy treatment and stem cell transplant, but there aren't any records of it being done. It was terminal.

Something doesn't add up. Underneath the document is another copy of a document that seems to have been stuck to the back of Christof's hospital records. I carefully peel back the records, ash from the edges falls to the ground. The document is unrelated and mostly burned. Must've fuzed together from the fire that allegedly tried to destroy Christof's records, a Jane Doe that had a fetal extraction.

"Elena!" Damon shouts.

My eyes are glued to the document, trying to decipher the smeared and destroyed words. The papers are snatched away from me.

"We have to go," he replies.

"What? Why?"

Then I realize why he's sounds so frantic. I was so focused on looking through the papers that I didn't hear the crackling of fire. The smell of smoke infuses my senses and has started to spread in the room. With a crash I hear a minor explosion in another room and then another crash. The sounds of flames roar in my ears and I feel sweat bead on my forehead as heat encloses the room we're in.

I stuff random documents in my backpack and get up. "Get out your gun," Damon yells as another small explosion crashes through a nearby room. A document falls out of the backpack and floats to the ground. "Hurry."

I pick up the document and stuff it in my jacket, throw my backpack on my back and take out my gun, taking the safety off I follow Damon's lead. Whoever started the fire might still be around, waiting for the right moment to attack, but something tells me they were more focused on burning any evidence Ada had over someone being in her home.

Or worse, they could be trying to kill two birds with one stone. Literally.

Damon and I walk a foot into the hallway and quickly realize we can't go back the way we came. The entire kitchen is engulfed in flames, wooden paneling has started to fall in the hallway, blocking our path. I turn around to lead us in the opposite direction, crouched low when I'm stopped by a falling ceiling lamp landing at my feet, pieces of debris hit my head, the gun slips out of my sweaty hands and tumbles to the ground as I blindly try to back up. I feel a hand wrapped around my waist, pulling me back just as the entire ceiling crumbles to the ground. We're trapped, both exits are in flames.

My entire body feels like it's on fire, even though flames have yet to touch me. My eyes burn and start to water.

"I can't see!" I yell.

Damon's hand firmly takes mine. "Just focus on my feet."

With all that I have left in me, I follow his feet as he guides me back through to Ada's room, trying to ignore the world imploding around me. Smoke fills my lungs as I hear gun shots. I try to breath but it's so thick in my throat I feel like I'm choking. In my last attempts to stay awake I tug Damon's hand before darkness completely obscures my vision.

XXX

 _In the distance, Chopin's Nocturne starts to play on the piano. With every movement of the song, large thin fingers dance across the keys causing my heart to race. It's a game, his game. I run and I run and I run, my heart pounds, trying to find a place to hide, but the darkened halls are an endless maze. Round and round I go until smoke seeps in through the mahogany paneling, causing the deep scarlet wallpaper to curl and blister as it burns._

A deep cough bubbles up, and my eyes fly open as I lean over to let it out.

"Hey," Damon says gently, sitting on the bed beside me, and handing me a glass of water. I drink it and take in my surroundings. Large white duvet with an embroidered silver grey embroidered boarder with the letters SH in a diamond pattern, a deep grey velvet chaise with a blue-silver paisley throw pillow, long white curtains with silver tassels, a large flat screen television, an ornate mirror over the chocolate brown dresser, black and white landscape photography in deep chestnut frames, and Damon, watching me with an unsure eye. He doesn't look like he belongs. "Why am I in a hotel?"

Damon shifts and I suddenly feel a breeze hit my shoulders. "I live here."

Where are my clothes?

Am I wearing underwear?

Please God, say I'm at least wearing panties. I can't remember if I put any on with the camouflage leggings. I shift slightly. Yup, still there.

"Did my clothes _burn_ _off_ in the fire?" I ask, pulling the duvet up to cover my private bits.

Damon takes the glass from my hands and places it on the nightstand next to me. "Your clothes were a singed mess from the fire the doctor had to examine you. She was here earlier to check your vitals and make sure you're okay," he smirks at the memory, his eyes doing that thing they always do that makes panties drop everywhere. "besides, it's nothing I haven't seen," he adds with a wink.

Jerk. At least the doctor was a woman.

I start coughing again, Damon scoots closer and hands me an inhaler that was sitting on the bedside table. He coaxes my mouth open and helps me take a couple of puffs, rubbing my back. His warm hands on my back feels soothing and nice. I feel my throat clear and lungs expand. When I feel like I can talk to him again, I smack him away, pulling the duvet up higher. "You didn't have to take off all my clothes."

He shrugs. "I didn't want to get soot all over my duvet."

"You mean the hotel's duvet," I correct.

"My hotel."

"Your dad's hotel."

Another shrug, he opens up a prescription bottle and hands me a couple of pills and my glass of water.

"What happened?" I ask. "Last thing I remember was taking your hand and hearing gunshots."

I catch the faintest bit of hesitation, but in a flash, it's gone and replaced with a more resolved look. "I got you out just as the house crumbled. Fire department hadn't even arrived yet by the time I got you in the back seat of my car. It was quicker for me to call my doctor and get you to one of my hotels, than try to get you into an emergency room or call an ambulance, besides, what would we have said?"

Good point. The would've wanted to know what happened and I couldn't exactly say that I had broken into a home when it was set on fire.

"What about my bag?"

"It's gone," he quickly replies. "When I picked you up, it must've fallen off."

Dammit. It had everything in it, including files I had yet to look through.

"I'm having someone bring your car over here," he adds. "Your phone survived. I'll leave it with the keys by the front door."

I may be almost naked, but he saved my life. If he hadn't have followed me, I would probably have ended up at the pearly gates with Ada. The idea doesn't bother me as much as it should. "Thank you."

He waves his hand, indicating he wants more detail. "For…"

"Being a paranoid asshat and following me," I reply smugly.

Damon leans in, sitting closer to me on the bed, tugging the duvet slightly so he can get a better look at me. I can smell body wash mixed with his freshly laundered black v-neck. He eyes my neck like it's something he wants to taste, my breathing begins to shallow. I don't think I'd mind if he explored that part of my body with his tongue.

"You need to work on your words of gratitude," he comments, his voice husky, his lips touch me, just below my clavicle and above my heart. "I thought I'd lost you," he breathes.

It's hot, too hot. Another cough bubbles in my throat. Damon retreats and hands me the inhaler. "You smell like smoke," he observes. His words and sudden cold attitude are harsh and bite.

"The flames of hell will do that to a girl," I reply sardonically. "Now get off the bed and turn around."

Damon's eyebrows raise. "Why?"

"I need to take a shower and thanks to you, I'm completely naked."

"Not completely," he says, with a knowing look.

Ugh. "And how many girls have been in this bed and in the same predicament?"

"Smelling like a campfire with their panties still in tact?" He asks, pretending to ponder the question like I've asked him to explain the Quantum Entanglement Theory. "None."

I roll my eyes. "Damon."

"Elena," he mocks.

"Fine!" I say, because we're two grown adults who've been in intimate contact. I throw back the covers and letting the cool air hit my chest, I saunter to the bathroom, catching Damon's shocked look on my way.

After a luxurious shower, the hotel's shower-heads are quite lovely, and changing into a midnight blue silk blouse and worn black jeans that Damon had purchased for me, I towel dry my hair, loosely braid it over one shoulder and meet him in the suite's kitchen, where he's standing barefoot laboring over something that smells distinctly of browning butter over the stove.

"He cooks," I say as I walk over to the kitchen counter. "I thought you lived off of room service."

"I thought you might want lunch," he replies, sliding a toasted whole wheat sandwich on a plate and cutting it in four triangles. He slides the plate in front of me. It's not pretty, to be quite honest. The edges are slightly burned and peanut butter oozes out of the side.

I flip one of the triangles over to inspect the back. "What is it?"

"Grilled peanut butter and banana sandwich," he replies, on his way to the refrigerator. He pours two glasses of milk and plates a sandwich for himself. "Can't forget the best part," he adds, sliding over a glass of milk.

"Gee, thanks Mom," I quip before taking a bite. I think my eyes roll in the back of my head because fuck me this is good. It's warm and gooey and the crisp whole wheat bread adds a little bit of a nutty texture. "Did you put honey in this?"

Damon gives me a satisfied smile while I take a drink of milk, the sandwich really did need it. "Honey and something else."

I drop the sandwich back on my plate. I raise an eyebrow. "Something else?"

Did he drug me? I wouldn't put it past him.

To prove an unspoken point, he picks one of my sandwich triangles up and takes a bite. He doesn't seem like he died. "It's safe, I promise," he replies, chewing.

I shrug my shoulders and take another bite of the sandwich. "So you live here?"

"Since I was fifteen I've lived in one of the hotels."

"Fifteen?" That's so young. "What about your parents? Your brother?"

"I didn't like being at home," he replies. He's short and crisp with what he as to say, ending the conversation before it started. He turns around tosses his plate in the sink.

I can see that, wanting to live somewhere else. If I had the option, I probably would've lived in a hotel too. Once Jeremy and Ada left, Aunt Suz's place became isolating. Cold.

"Was this your first time waking up in a man's bed?" Damon asks.

As usual, the conversation gets slightly personal and Damon has to lash out.

"Man is a strong word."

"Would you prefer stud?"

"If we're talking about an object in which you bang into a wall, then yes."

"Was it?" He pushes.

Suddenly, not hungry, I lay my cloth napkin across the plate and push it away. He knows what he's doing, pushing my buttons so I won't ask questions.

"What do you think? You know I was a virgin and I've never kissed a guy before you," I shout.

Oh shit. I spoke too quickly without thinking.

Damon catches my confession and raises his eyebrows in surprise, a smirk grows on his lips. "You'd never kissed anyone before?"

My cheeks flame. I hop off the stool and lift my hands in the air in surrender. "I'm done. We're done here."

I run to the door, grab my keys and phone from the entryway table. An envelope catches my eye, with a hand written note on the top.

 _Damon- Files were scanned, I have a team looking into it. We'll get back to you as soon as we find something. -Jo-_

I look in the envelope, it's a flash drive. A mixture of curiosity and anger drives me to stuff the envelope in my pocket, and run out the door. Damon doesn't try to stop me. He doesn't come after me and after everything that's happened, I think it's for the best.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Regret has whipped it's ugly little head around and bitten me in the ass. How was I supposed to know that when I agreed to a date with Mason, he'd text me a couple hours before he was supposed to pick me up telling me to wear a bikini? A BIKINI!? That was the first sign I should've canceled. I should've been honest and told him I'd rather go visit my Aunt Suz than go somewhere that absolutely required a bikini.

Instead, I put on my very practical black Speedo one-piece, threw a midnight blue paisley maxi dress over it, put on some complicated sandals that had a gold silk wrap tie around my ankles, and let him drive me to the S Hotel, where they had a rooftop pool club. That's right, the first date I've been on since my cherry was popped is at the scene of the crime. That was the second sign I should've canceled.

The third sign I should've run out the door and continued until I got home was when Mason and I were walking through the lobby to the elevators and I saw Damon in a grey suit at the Oak Bar drinking with some sleek gorgeous blond. My eyes zeroed in on her hand because it was on his thigh like they were comfortable with each other. Like she actually knew what she was doing and wasn't some spaz when it came to intimacy. She was laughing, all flirty in an attempt to show how long her neck is and how red her lips are. Probably talking about her favorite place to summer and where she goes to buy her favorite kale juice. Yup. With her complexion, kale was definitely a topic of conversation.

Confused as to why I stopped, Mason tugs my hand. "The pool's this way. We can get drinks upstairs."

He thought I wanted a drink? I really wanted to run the opposite direction and drown my sorrows and insecurities with sparkling pink wine in the privacy of my own home, but I followed in case Damon saw me and I really didn't want to deal with _that_ conversation.

So here I am, sitting in a private hot tub and listening to Mason go on and on about his last surfing competition in Australia. I think he said something about a shark. Or he was talking about his manly bits while I zoned out? I couldn't be sure.

"So, this massive spotted whale shark comes out of nowhere…"

Oh, I guess he was talking about a shark.

"Aren't whale sharks supposed to be pretty docile?" I inquire, sipping the last bit of my vodka-cranberry.

He falters and motions for a cocktail waitress wearing a tiny silver bikini, carrying a tray.

"Well, it was a huge shark," he corrects. "And I dropped in a wave just in time to avoid being eaten."

I nod, trying to look more enthused about his story. "And this all happened during a competition?"

He nods and is about to add to his story when the bikini-clad waitress squats next to us in the hot tub, so we'd be able to hear her over the loud club music playing while people danced on a clear illuminated platform above the pool. "What can I get you?" she asks Mason, then suddenly holds onto his forearm for support, like she was either too drunk or in desperate need of more than emotional support.

"I'll have another Corona," he points to me. "What would you like, Elena?"

As if seeing me for the first time, The Bikini takes in my black Speedo one-piece and smirks. "Would you like a Shirley Temple?" She asks with a light giggle.

I sweetly smile back. "Yes, please, but with bourbon and less of your condescending attitude."

Mason laughs while the waitress huffs and scuttles off toward the bar. There will probably be spit in my drink. Hopefully, alcohol kills the germs.

"She shouldn't have treated you that way," he comments.

I shrug. "She must've never been on a swim team," I reply, indicating toward my suit and pointing at the Olympic rings underneath the Speedo symbol.

"Were you?"

"No, but I was very supportive of Angel Falls High's pool sports."

Mason sits closer, his eyes following the black straps to the Speedo logo, right below the curve of my breasts. I never thought I could feel so dirty in a suit I bought for the time I thought I might be good at triathlons and quickly learned that I lacked the coordination to go from swimming to biking to running.

"I like the way you show your support," Mason compliments.

Is he talking about my boobs or is he actually talking about me being a supportive human being? Why do I suck at this? In my home last night, he was just Mason, Tyler's older hot uncle that was always sweet and had the dry wit I appreciate in people, and now he's date Mason, still hot, but looking at me through different lenses.

"Thank you," I squeak, inching away from him.

"Do you still see people from high school?" he asks. We've moved on from my swimsuit, thank the good lord. Maybe if I get him to talk about surfing again, he won't require actual words to come out of my mouth and I could go back to nodding and drinking.

I shrug. "Sometimes."

"I just saw D.J. Wentworth at a bar last night."

D.J. is the son of the leader of the Divine Fellowship Church, Dixon Wentworth's son and was Mason's age. "You guys used to surf together, right?"

Mason nods. "Until his dad made him go on a mission trip to South America. D.J. and I had a trip to New Zealand planned after graduation, and dear old preacher daddy decided it was time D.J. gave back. I haven't seen him since we were 18."

I didn't realize they were friends. Last time I saw D.J., it was at a 4th of July barbecue when I was twelve. He was a large kid, even at seventeen, he'd tower over me. He was built like an adult, so it was no surprise he was the star football player. Rumors went around that the principal of AFHS was pissed and chewed out the football coach when D.J.'s dad sent him to Mexico before he could finish the season.

Every time Mason brought up things from my days with Aunt Suz, it left me feeling physically ill. I really didn't want to talk about the Fellowship Church or the Wentworths. "Do you see anyone else from high school?" I asked.

"I have a couple that still travel with me to surfing competitions. There was this competition in Thailand where I almost missed the entire event because my driver got lost and took me to a remote spot with the most beautiful waves, but no one was there."

Well, that was easy. I got him to talk about his favorite thing in the world again.

The waitress comes back with our drinks and I check mine for mysterious bubbles before knocking it back. Needs more bourbon and less grenadine, but still good. I swirl the straw around. I wonder if Damon is going to sleep with that girl from the bar. It's how we met, so I shouldn't be surprised if he does that every night. We left things on a not so pleasant note, and for the past few hours, I've wondered if I was still beholden to our deal. If I ever hear from him again.

"After the competition, I went back to that remote spot to surf, just me and my board," he takes a sip of his drink. Mason can really talk about surfing for a hours. I think I've become an expert just by half-listening to him. "But when we had to fly back to the states and my buddies and I got completely wasted on the plane," he continues.

"Uh huh," I mumble, my mind floating back to Damon, and replaying our last conversation for the thirtieth time. Maybe conversation is a strong word, shouting match might be more accurate.

Damon could be angry that I stole his flash drive. I still don't know exactly what I stole, but honestly, I did it to piss him off. It was sitting there, right next to my car keys, obviously part of the same delivery. I think. I couldn't help myself. Taking something of his felt good in that moment and I have a gut feeling he's hiding something from that night. He was a little too evasive about what happened after I passed out.

The moment I got home, I plugged the drive into my computer only to realize it was encrypted. I'm not what someone would call a computer genius, but I do know my way around a computer, being a librarian and all, but this encryption was beyond me.

"So that's the secret to recovering from jet-lag," Mason finishes.

I take another sip of my drink but the glass mysteriously empty. Damn.

"Do you need another drink?"

I think this is my fourth drink.

I should probably stop.

I hand Mason my glass. "Yes please, but a gin and tonic."

He flashes his white teeth in a blinding smile and hops out of the tub. He does look good, shorter than Damon but with large muscles, the kind you get from lifting weights and drinking gross protein drinks, and punching sharks in the nose. That was his story, right?

I sit back in the hot tub, letting the heat envelop me, watching other people dance and laugh. There are multiple hot tubs around the club. Cabanas line the space, giving those who need privacy a level of seclusion, though we all know what's going on when those curtains are closed. It feels sinful and scandalous to be sitting in the tub watching like some voyeur.

Girls in bikinis of varying shades swaying to the music, while guys hold onto their hips and move with them, like a wave. Pulling in, pulling back, crashing into each other. It seems nice. Being here right now seems normal. I'm not at a double-feature, eating popcorn alone, _I_ am doing something normal, go me!

I don't need Damon's advice or long gazes, I can go out, have fun, kiss, and have sex with whoever I want, like any other single lady from that Beyonce song. Maybe I'll kiss Mason. Maybe that's what I need, a good fuck to make sure I'm no longer broken.

With two drinks in hand, Mason does a cute little swivel dance move to the music as he crouches down to hand me my drink and slide back into the hot tub. I pretend not to notice the fact that he's sitting closer to me or the fact that his hand is on my thigh. It's fine. I'm cool. His hand can be there because I'm completely normal. Completely. Normal.

I take a long drink of my gin and tonic and try to take deep breaths. I can do this.

Mason takes the drink from my hands. "Slow down, Elena," he admonishes, placing the glass on the tile lining the jacuzzi. He slowly leans toward me.

"You're so beautiful," he says, placing a hand on my shoulder, and smoothly grazing my back so his arm is effectively around me. "I've always admired how nice you are to everyone."

I'm staring straight ahead, watching a couple in the opposite private jacuzzi argue, ignoring my pounding heart, and even though they're beneath the water, I can feel my hands start to tremble.

Mason hovers over me, so close, we're breathing the same air.

I try to steady my breath. I hear the hum of words coming out of Mason's mouth, but I can't decipher them. I feel a sheen of sweat on my forehead and neck as I allow him to touch me. On the shoulder, on my cheek, his finger grazing down my arm. A song comes on and it's so out of place in a club, it's as though the shadows of past memories have engulfed me and taken me back. It's a ballad with a piano introduction. I close my eyes and try to stay in the present. Mason has his arm wrapped around me and is nuzzling my neck. I feel his mouth on me.

Long fingers dance across the keys. A beautifully dreaded dark tune. Multicolored lights bounce off the walls.

No, this cannot happen. Not again.

I squeeze my eyes shut and breath in through my nose and slowly out my mouth. I open them.

From a distance, I see a figure I'd become all too familiar with, standing and looking out over the crowd. My vision is clouded, whether from the steam coming from the jacuzzi, or something darker. Like a magnet, my head follows his path as he strides away, to some location beyond my sight. Like that he disappears, and I wonder if he was real or if I was looking for an image to hold onto before I'm dragged back to the pits of hell.

Something in my movements, maybe my body twisting or my back arching to see where he went, or my shallow breaths, prompts Mason to press his lips to my neck. "I knew you wanted this," he mutters.

I swallow and try to refocus my mind, concentrating on his movements so I don't lose myself. I do want this. I know I do. I want to forget about Damon and everything that's happened in the last couple of days. Somehow I feel like I'm back to square-one, back to when I was going home with the young waiter or the back room with the pool guy from the bar. Trying to figure something out. Figure out if I can be normal.

Mason's lips don't leave my neck as his hands run down the length of my sides and squeeze my hips, easily lifting me up and placing me on his lap so he has easier access. I concentrate on the way his lips feel on my skin.

Like an octopuses tentacles sucking on my flesh.

Not tender or with need.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. No, this feels good. This _has_ to feel good. This is what people like.

I inhale, willing myself to enjoy this.

Even though I'm in hundred degree water, as his fingers run up my spine, they feel like ice, freezing the very blood that runs through my veins. A shudder runs through me. My eyes remain squeezed shut. I will myself to allow him to continue and try to remind myself that this is someone I grew up knowing, someone I've always harbored a crush for, but my memories become blurred with falling snow and cold feet crunching on frozen grass. And the need to run.

He grabs my ponytail, wrapping it around his fingers and tugs, causing my neck to snap. The action, the simple action, meant to be intimate and sexy ignites a guttural scream from my core, quickly muffled by his lips on mine.

I can't do this.

My lips remain clamped shut as I place my hands on his shoulders and push him away, but he's so big he barely budges. I try again, but he's so into the moment, I can't break through. Words fail me as he continues his barrage. _Long fingers. Snow. Frozen toes. Headlights. A scream._

"I can't. I can't. I cant," I repeat over and over like a crazed lunatic. Mason, inches from my face gives a look of confusion mixed with hurt.

I shake my head, wanting to tell him that it's not his fault, but words fail me. I need to go. I need to create as much distance from this moment as possible.

A splash comes out of nowhere, as a third person enters our jacuzzi and pulls me off of Mason. Fully clothed in a grey suit, with a maddening look on his face, Damon goes straight to Mason, pulls back his arm and punches him square across the face. "What did you do to her?" he yells, going in for another punch. "Didn't you see she was petrified?" I hear the sickening sound of flesh being hit mixed with a guttural noise. "Frozen in place?"

Mason tries to best Damon, inadvertently pushing me aside causing my head to get dunked in the hot water. Suddenly, I'm very awake and I'm back at the S Hotel's rooftop club, on a date with an old friend, who was caught off guard and is currently being pummeled. I gain footing and come to the surface, emerging from the water behind Damon and Mason's fight.

"Damon, stop!" I yell, jumping on his back to stop his next swing. Though it's a struggle because I'm literally hugging Damon from the back to prevent him from moving his arms, Damon seems to have come to his senses and steps back. When I feel like it's safe, I release myself from him and attend to Mason.

His face is red, but when his eyes meet mine, there's only concern there. "Did I hurt you?" he asks.

"Did you hurt me?" I repeat. "You're the one that got pounded on."

He shakes his head and scoots away from me. "No, did I hurt you?" He reiterates.

My eyes close and I take a breath. He thinks he hurt me when because of me, he's hurt. "No," I start to say. "I…I…I shouldn't have come."

"Elena," Damon says from behind me.

I spin around, relieved to have a place to direct my confused anger. "What the hell, Damon?"

His tie is loosened, but everything else remains intact, even though he was just in a brawl. More than intact, he looks like a fucking model from some avant-garde cologne add. Foreign and expensive. He definitely doesn't look apologetic. "He touched you while you were catatonic," Damon replies, starting to move back toward Mason for round two.

With my hand outstretched, and standing in front of Mason, I stop him. "You can't do this Damon. You can't just punch people because they touch me."

"You were petrified," he argues. "I saw it."

"I'm fine," I lie because I am anything but fine.

"You're lying."

Damn him.

"You have caused enough trouble. You need to go," I order, pointing in the direction of the exit. "Now!"

Damon glares at Mason in an unspoken warning and looks at me. In a huff, he gets out of the jacuzzi and leaves, not caring that everyone in the club is looking at us. I think there was an actual DJ scratch and the music stopped, but that could also be my paranoia, when in reality only like half the club saw the fight.

A waitress comes by with an ice pack and I place it on Mason's eye. "How're you doing?"

Mason grunts. "I've been better. How do you know that guy?"

What do I say? Yes, I know him but how I know him is complicated? Minutes pass as I avoid answering his question, concentrating on the ice pack in my hand, currently placed over Mason's blackening eye.

With his good eye, he looks at me warily. "Is he your boyfriend?"

My hand slips off the ice pack, while a foreign laugh escapes. "No, he's not even a friend," I pause, what if he sues Damon? It'd be all my fault. "Are you going to press charges?"

Mason sighs, disappointed and shakes his head, retrieving the ice pack from my hand to distance himself from me. "I think I'd better go."

This was a disaster and hopefully, it was such a disaster that Caroline will never hear about it.

I nod, watching him stand up in the water, place one of his feet on the step to ascend from the hot tub. He glances back at me. "Do you need a ride home?" he asks as an afterthought.

"No, I think I'm going to stay for a little longer."

Mason gets out to leave, but stops turns around and takes the ice pack off his eye. "Elena, he's not good for you."

A forced smile tugs at my lips. "We aren't even friends," I repeat.

Mason grunts disbelievingly and leaves, walking to the private canopy he reserved for us.

I order another drink and just sit in the hot water, resting my head against the tile. What's wrong with me? I squeeze my eyes shut and try to recount what happened. Mason wanted to get intimate, which I was okay with until he actually got intimate and I froze. Not a fluttering of my heart due to attraction or chemistry, but it's like my heart literally doesn't want to be close to anyone because it always speeds up to heart-attack alarming levels when anyone gets close. Well, not anyone. I bite my lip and ponder that.

After an hour of lying in the hot tub, I get out and start to walk to the canopy Mason rented when a server in black slacks and a white button-up approaches me with a note on a silver tray. I nod and flip open the beige cardstock and read the neat scrawl. "Come to my room," is all it says, and it's signed with a simple D.

Well bull fucking shit, there's no way in hell I'm going to his room. I fold the card, politely thank the waiter and run into the canopy as quickly as I can so I can change, dart out of this hotel and never set foot in it again.

I'm wearing my dress and sandals, my hair is tied up in a top knot, and I'm trying to casually walk out of the club without being noticed when two very large fellows in black suits start following me. I decide to make a run for it to the elevator when they each take an arm and as politely as hired bodyguards can, guide me through the elevator doors.

One of them pushes the button for Damon's floor. I take a checkbook out of the purse slung over my shoulder and regard each guard politely. "Look, I know you work for Damon, but I'll pay you double what he's paying you tonight to simply push that little button that indicates the lobby level."

Both guards look at me and grunt. I guess Damon pays them for their loyalty too. Smart.

"This is kidnapping!" I yell, frustratedly putting my checkbook back in my purse.

The twins both grunt in disbelief, but one has a smile tugged at his lips. He's the weak one. I turn to him, tempted to run my hand across the buzzcut just to see what it feels like, but I don't think that's the best way to get him on my side. That look, the buzzcut, along with the mullet, should've been left in the 90's where it belonged.

I put on my most charming smile. "You know, I could use a personal guard,"- this is surprisingly true after the events that have unfolded in the last 48 hours- " I'll pay you triple what Mr. Salvatore is offering, and I can promise you that I'm much better company than that chauvinistic jackass."

Twin One's grin grows wider. "I would, Miss, but I'm under strict orders from Mr. Salvatore to make sure you arrive at his room safely."

I nod, knowing I'm going to have to do something drastic when we arrive. I casually take two steps back and make it look like I need to hang onto the brass bar that surrounds the elevator when the floor level dings. Twin Two looks at me suspiciously, so I smile and make to follow him, but what he doesn't see is my right index finger pressing the close elevator button. Just as we walk out, I make sure they're far enough away to take a step back just in time for the elevator doors to close.

Success! I got rid of Damon's lackeys and Damon all at the same time, but instead of getting off at the lobby, I get off two floors above and take a stairwell located toward the east side of the hotel to the parking garage. I assume this is a brilliant move on my part, considering Damon will expect me to leave the way I came, but when I open the stairwell doors to the lobby and take a sharp right, making my way toward a parking garage exit that does not go directly through the expansive lobby, I see two more men, different from Thing 1 and Thing 2, stand in front of my exit with their arms folded, clearly not amused.

"Ms. Gilbert, you need to come with us," one of the men say.

I glare at him with what I think is a don't mess with me pointed stare. "And if I say no?"

The bald one with a mustache speaks up. "Mr. Salvatore gave us specific instructions to either escort you to his penthouse or escort you to a holding cell at the hotel."

I grimace. Must be the same one my would be prostitute was in.

"The entire staff is on alert," he adds.

God, I'm going to kill him.

"How is this legal?" I inquire.

"He claims you stole something from him, ma'am."

The flash drive. He knows.

I roll my eyes and hold out my hands, prepared for when they cuff me. "Take me to the holding cell, boys."

The holding cell is neutral territory and I'll be less likely to throw a vase at Damon's head knowing people are waiting outside the door to apprehend me, plus, added bonus, Damon'll be pissed off because I won't be placed before him on a silver platter, he'll have to come to me.

Instead of cuffing me, the boys simply lead me to the cell. One walks in front of me, guiding me, while the other walks behind me, making sure I don't bolt. I _do_ contemplating bolting, only because I know they can't do anything to me. I think.

The holding cell turns out to be an unused office next to a ballroom used for weddings and really boring conferences, like the ALA conference. I think I have one coming up in a few months, and I swear to god, if they send me to guest lecture in San Antonio one more time, I'm going to spike the coffee with Bailey's.

I pace the empty room, refusing to sit at the chair across from the desk or the couch, looking for a potential exit through the vent- can't unscrew the grate, out the other door- turned out to be a closet, when Damon strides in the room wearing a new three-piece suit, he's showered, and he looks angry. Worst of all, I can smell his body wash from where I stand, clean and masculine and God, I really hate him. I just want to go home and shower this day off of me.

When the door closes behind him, he beckons me to sit. I don't. He stands in front of the door and huffs in frustration, his hands on his waist as if to restrain himself. "Where's my flash-drive, Elena?"

I shrug. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Like hell you do," he replies.

I decide to change tactics and distract him. "First, you interrupt my date, then you punch my date, repeatedly, then you have your goons chase me down and you expect me to fork over whatever the hell _you_ lost?"

He lets out a deep foreboding breath and walks toward me, forcing me to back up against the wooden desk, the slit in my dress rides up as I try to find something to hold onto for support. His hands clamp either side of the desk, trapping me and his gaze drags from my exposed thigh, up my arms, my neck, his eyes hover on my lips and flicks towards my eyes. "You walked out," he says, huskily. "And took the flash drive with you."

"I walked out because you were being a dick and I don't know about any flash drive," I partially lie.

Damon smirks and licks his lips, he leans down, flush against my body and whispers threateningly in my ear. "You're a shit liar, Elena."

"What's on the flash drive?"

He smirks. "So you did take it."

I shake my head. "Never said that, but I'm naturally curious as to why you think I'd want it."

He steps a little closer, closing the gap between my beating heart and his solid chest with that lovely Adonis v I explored not long ago. "I think I could get you to tell me where it is," he states, pushing my legs apart with his thigh.

Maybe his penthouse would've been a better location to meet. "You do?"

My body hums with his presence and right now it's singing. I close my eyes, bracing myself for the panic attack that usually accompanies this sort of physical contact. I wait, and Damon is so close, I can hear his shallow breaths and smell a hint of bourbon. I wait and continue to wait until the attack comes, and Damon waits with me, leaning into me like I'm prey but also waiting patiently for permission. The quandary causes my eyes to flick open. It didn't come. The attack didn't come. Damon studies me, watching every fleck of emotion on my face and I know if I want him to, he'll back away, but instead, I reach up, wrap my hand around his neck and bring his lips to mine.

His lips are so soft and sweet, I pull him closer to me to deepen the kiss. It feels glorious but nothing is happening. I don't black out or have vague visions of something from my past, instead, I am right here, in the moment. But why? Why does this happen to me? Why did I almost pass out in the pool earlier, but am okay right now?

Damon breaks the kiss and steps away, he looks worried. "Are you okay?"

"What?" My voice cracks, confused.

He moves back toward me and with his thumb, brushes a tear from my face and gazes into my eyes, genuinely concerned. "What happened at the pool earlier?"

I wipe the tears trailing down my cheeks and avoid his eyes. I can't tell him that he's the only person that doesn't cause me to go catatonic. I don't even know how to explain it.

I need to get out of here and the only way to get rid of Damon is to give him what he wants. "It's been a long day, and I need to get home. I'll give you your flash drive at brunch tomorrow."

He nods, not gloatingly, but distracted by something else. "I'll have my driver drop you off."

I decide not to argue and silently allow Damon to escort me out of the holding cell, through the expansive lobby and into a waiting black SUV near the valet. Damon opens the door for me and I get into the vehicle, but he doesn't close the door behind me, instead, one hand is on the door while the other is on the door frame. He's been quiet for the last ten minutes and seems almost defeated. His eyes shift around the interior of the car, then at me. "I'm not good at this, Elena."

My eyebrow cocks in surprise. "Not good at what?"

"This," he replies, pointing towards myself and him.

"I know," I state. A smile tugs at his lips. "But neither am I."

He leans in and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. His grey-blue eyes search mine and I don't know what to say, so I place my hand on his chest to stop him from whatever he was about to do. "So we're nothing except for the original arrangement."

Damon's eyes close tightly and he takes a deep breath, stepping away from the car. "I'll pick you up at 11," he states before he shuts the door and striding away.


End file.
